


A Soldier, Not a Hero

by Twisted_Fate_MK2



Category: RWBY
Genre: Atlas - Freeform, Atlesian Specialists, Military, SOLDIER - Freeform, Writing Bug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Fate_MK2/pseuds/Twisted_Fate_MK2
Summary: Jaune is too old to train to be a Huntsman, but he won't give in. So his father finds a somewhat safer way to let his son have a chance at his dreams. How, you ask? Well, the strongest military on the planet had to be a safe enough place for him to get to his dreams. An imperfect answer but hey, some discipline could be good for him.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue - To Atlas, Apparently

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile. 

High Priests, Alvelvnor, Gage. 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek, Emperor of All

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Stonecold, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

“You can’t be a Huntsman, Jaune!” His father growled shortly, dirty and tired from what had no doubt been a hard Hunt. Capital H for hunt, not lower, since the Grimm were involved. “You’re too old to start now.”

“You said that when I was fifteen, too!”

“And you were too old to start then, too!” Tired, he collapsed on a low bench inside the wall of Ansel and accepted the bottle of ice-chilled water from a lesser hunter passing them out.

Lesser as in not super powered by his Aura, so no capital ‘H’. Even if the man was as good with his bow as his father was his sword. He’d seen the man shot down Beowolves and Ursai himself, from a distance at least, and knew how good he was. Still, no Aura and license meant all he could ever have was that lower case letter. 

Taking a drink, the older Huntsman shook his head and sighed, “If you wanted to be a Huntsman, then you would have started a decade ago. More than, even! You’re seventeen, Jaune.”

He didn’t have anything he could say to that. At least not anything that he hadn’t already said, bemoaning the unfairness of it all. He’d done that before and his father had usually joined him, offering a comforting arm around his shoulders. He’d also shouted accusations and hate, once upon a time, but he knew his father loved him even as he robbed him of his dream. It was almost even more unfair then him not being able to pursue what he felt in his gut was his destiny, how kind and calm his father was.

Instead of doing anything, then, he sighed and joined his father on the bench, looking up the defensive incline of Ansel.

The first wall was more or less a palisade with dirt mounded up to flatness behind it, elevating the walking area to the height of the wall. Better footing if a fight came, and a better view, the lowest boughs of the pines down the hill below the lip of the wall. Outside the wall was little of the settlement aside from cabbages and potatoes that grew low enough to the ground to not impair vision.

On this level was much the same, albeit with corn and wheat instead of potatoes and cabbages. A road split the two fields which rotated the crops, and farmhouses were nestled against the wall at the end of about a mile of farmland. Beyond it were more houses, as well as craftsmen and lodges for miners and foundry workers whose workplaces even now pumped smoke up and over the mountains that curved around the settlement. 

At the very back, at the highest point of the hill aside from the paths that spiraled up into the mountains around the town for the miners, was Arc Manor and the Huntsman Lodge. Each looked the same as the other, long wood and brick longhouses dotted by chimneys and filled with rooms. One for the extensive Arc family, and the other for traveling Hunters in the area. The Grimm kind, that was, with a capital ‘H’ and everything.

The kind of capital H he wanted so badly to be, to protect this place...

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His father finally asked, breaking the silence and tugging him from his thoughts. Turning to the man, twice his size and wearing a thick green gambeson, he raised an eyebrow. He snorted and ran a hand through his thick, braided beard, “Ansel, son. It’s just the most beautiful damn thing you ever saw, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking at the fields and smiling. “I… Wanted to be a hero to protect it.”

“Well…” His father paused for a moment, pursing his lips and taking a deep breath. “Well, son, being a Hunter isn’t the only way to be a hero.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, watching his father draw and methodically start to clean his greatsword, wiping it down with an oiled rag he’d produced from… Somewhere. When he didn’t answer, Jaune prompted him, ”I always thought that all the old heroes were Hunters.”

“I mean yeah, in them old fairy tales and what not you have up in your room.” He bristled at the huge tomes he’d spent so much Lien on being called ‘fairy tales’ and his father chuckled. Waving him off he smiled and shook his shaggy head, “What I’m trying to say is that your books don’t have all the world’s secrets locked up in ‘em. What, you think ‘The Tale of the Seasons’ is literal?”

“No…” He wasn’t stupid, he knew magic wasn’t real. But… “Every old fable has a kernel of truth, dad.”

“Hah.” The man shook his head again and hefted his sword, Genial Mors, to check its edge for the glint he always took as a tell for it being well sharpened. Sheathing it and leaning it against the wooden rampart beside him, he sighed, “Too many of them games, I tell you what. ‘A kernel of truth’.”

“Are you going to laugh at me or tell me what you’re talking about?”

“No, no, I’ll tell you.” His father snorted a last laugh, though, as he went and Jaune rolled his eyes. “Second most storied profession on Remnant, my boy, but just as honorable as Hunting. Soldiering.”

“You…” His brow furrowed and he chuckled, “You want me to be a soldier?” 

“Want? Bah! As if I would want you out there gettin’ shot at.” His father guffawed and stood, offering his far smaller son a hand to tug him up as he did. Jaune took it and the world rushed by in a whoosh as he was yanked up and off his feet before he landed and stumbled. His father wrapped an arm around his shoulders, dragging him along the path between the farms as he spoke, “No, I’d prefer you settle down here. Learn a trade, earn your keep, marry some cutie and gimme some grandkids.”

“Dad…” Embarrassed, he turned his gaze to the path and let the man lead him along.

“You wanna be a hero, son, then I can get you a pass to Atlas.” He shrugged and Jaune felt it, his shoulders rising pulling Jaune up along with his arm. As they walked, passing by farmers and hunters headed out for game, the man continued, “You get there with your papers, you enlist, and you get to be a big damn hero. Just like you wanted. Plenty of honor in soldiering, I can promise you that.”

“Atlas?” He asked, finally pulling free of his father’s grip and looking up at him. The man settled a hand on the back of his shoulders, hand stretching from the curve of one to the other. He’d always been the size of a bear, like that, so he ignored it, “That’s a week away. Vale is only a couple days out, why would I go to Atlas?”

“Better army in Atlas.” The man answered simply with a great shrug. In a quiet, tired voice, the man continued, “Better armor, better weapons, and better training. Last bit means it’ll be hard, of course, but then so would being a Huntsman.”

“I can do the work to get there, dad.” And he meant it, too. His favorite stories told about how hard the training and life of a hero was, and he wouldn’t shirk from it. But… “Do you think that I can do it, though? We’ve never seen soldiers from Atlas out here. I don’t even know what I’d look for, what to expect.”

“Well, son, I expect you’ll figure it out here in a tick.” The man said as they stepped through the iron-reinforced gate into inner Ansel, and the man nodded at the landing pads set just inside it. An airship, Atlesian white and surrounded by armored men and women, sat there, soldiers loading up crates of food and metal, alongside the lesser gemstones Ansel extracted beside the iron.

“What-”

“Your ticket.” His father cut him off, holding up a simple piece of paper with his father’s signature beside someone else’s. He gave the young man beside him a smile, then, and explained, “Ordered freight in special with the pay from the job I just came back from. On credit, ‘course, but I knew I could handle it.”

“But mom-”

“Would only try and stop you, and you know you could never say no to her. Neither can I but I can handle her going off better ‘n you.” The man smiled and nudged him forward, towards the airship. Jaune gave him a look and only saw a cheshire grin, eyes twinkling brightly like the cat that had caught the canary, “You’d better get going, boy. They leave and your ticket goes with ‘em.”

“Thanks…” 

“Eh, send me a letter saying that from your trainin’ camp.” The man laughed and turned, folding his hands behind his head as he left and called back. “Expect some angry letters from your mother, though!”

“Thank you so much!” He lunged to hug his bear of a father anyway, the stiff fabric of his gambeson hard to squeeze. But he wanted him to feel how thankful he was, and so he squeezed anyway. Turning to take off, he waved a hand over his shoulder, “I’ll never forget this, dad!”

Only when his son was gone, having handed over his pseudo-ticket and been ushered on by the same soldiers he would soon be, did Nicholas Arc let his smile falter. Pressing a hand to his bruised side he sighed as the craft lifted into the air and began to list off and to the side, angling North. “Never forget this, huh?”

Well, he was willing to wager that was definitely true.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Atlas was frigid and harsh in more ways than he’d expected, floating high above Mantle like the goliath it was. Standing on the precipice of the exterior landing pads, he had to fight his vertigo to look down at the old city far below, but even with his stomach spinning he couldn’t fight back his curiosity. While Atlas was shining, silver and white and sparkling in the sky like a star, Mantle was old, black asphalt and cold brickwork, with great heating pipes crawling along the district’s floor and the roofs of the taller buildings, pumping Dust fuelled heat throughout the old city to keep the tundra’s chill at bay. 

The city was like a great black spot in the expanse of white around it, as though a wound had been carved in the snow of the tundra.

“Arc.” He turned at the voice to see one of the soldiers he’d ridden north with, Abraham Brass, coming towards him. In full uniform, the man was an imposing sight, but he smiled politely as Jaune turned to him. “Your father asked me to see you to the recruiting station when we got here.”

“He did?” How’d he have money to buy a full trip to Atlas itself, and the papers he needed to travel, and hire the soldier to escort him through Atlas?

“Yeah, personal favor.” The soldier shrugged then, armored shoulders rustling metallically as he did. “Not sure when I’ll meet the big man again but eh, a Huntsmen’s favor is a nice little card to have up a soldier’s sleeve. And I have to head near to the enlistment office anyway to file my transitory report.”

“Ah, yeah, I get it.” So he hadn’t paid as much as promised a favor, then. It made sense, really. Out in the frontier, favors were as good as Lien in some cases. Instead of asking about it, though, he asked, “What’s a transitory report?”

“Basically, a report detailing my routes of travel, fuel and food usage, and where I stopped and why.” The soldier answered, gesturing for him to follow so they could walk and talk, passing by milling soldiers and dock workers as they went about their work and ignored the soldier and civilian in their midst. Seeing him looking around at everything that he could see, especially the soldiers, the man chuckled, “Your father told me you wanted to be a good old Huntsman. That true?”

“Yeah!” He smiled, turning his attention off the grey buildings and marching soldiers to talk to the man properly. “I always wanted to, you know, be a hero. Like in the old stories and stuff, and like my ancestors were. Even my dad is one!”

“Yeah, I know. He paid your way here, remember?” He flushed and shivered as a sharp gust of air blew through from the edge of the great platform that was Atlas. The man chuckled and waved him off, “Don’t stress it, everyone wants to be a hero some time in their life. Fame, fortune, men and women, or just thrill, there’s a lot of reasons people have to get into it.”

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, “My dad talked about it a lot. About how Hunters get into the game for the wrong reasons and it never works out.”

“Yeah, well, soldiering is much the same in that way. People being dumb and making dumb decisions becaus eof it.” Jaune gave him a look as a row of droids, dull grey and holding their rifles, trundled by with a couple Atlesian soldiers trailing behind them. He waited until their heavy, metal marching passed by well enough and went on. “See ‘em all the time. In it for the easy pay, in it to get women with the appeal of a man in uniform, in it for the stories and fame. Some are even in it hoping to get a chance to hurt people. Talking about ‘getting kills’ like people are just… Target practice.”

“Not everyone’s a good person, yeah.” Jaune agreed, knowing of more than one occasion where standing militiamen had been found to be acting out. Risky choices, pressuring women into things with their ‘status’, and so on. “Mom always said people were the good and the bad, and you had to figure out who was which. Trick was always listening when people showed you who they were without thinking about it.”

“Smart lady.”

“Yeah, the smartest.” And she was proud enough to make it known, too. Sighing, he murmured, “She’s going to be so mad at me once dad tells her where I went. And why. And how, oh boy… She is gonna blow a gasket when dad tells her all about the how part.”

“Yeah, probably. But that’s not our problem for a little while, is it?” The soldier chuckled at his shrug and adjusted the rifle slung over one of his shoulders idly. After a minute of silence, letting Jaune just look around, he asked, “So what’s your reason?”

“For…?”

“For eating pizza, Arc. For eating pizza.” The man answered sarcastically, shaking his head and chuckling again. In an amused voice, he explained his question for his no doubt younger companion, “Why are you enlisting? What is Jaune Arc after, serving the world’s greatest military? Fortune? Women? What?”

“I want to be a hero.” He answered quietly after a long moment of thought, trying and failing to find better phrasing for it. “I want to protect people from anything that wants to hurt them. I want respect, too, I won’t lie, but… But I want to keep people safe. When I’m around, I want people to feel safe. You know what I mean?”

“I do, yeah. I understand that a hell of a lot more than you’d believe, actually.” The man nodded as they came to a tall building buzzing with civilians and soldiers who wore fatigues instead of armor. Above the multiple doors a sign hung that read ‘Atlesian Specialist and Mobile Infantry Enlistment Here’. “We go in here and we can get you registered. First will be a series of training camps that will last around a month, and then a final physical and mental aptitude test to decide your department.”

“Department?”

“Mobile Infantry like me, men with rifles on the ground. Wet Navy, which serve aboard ships and sailboats out on the water. Dry Navy like the pilots and airship you came in with, and the big flagships you saw.” As an addition, he jerked his chin up towards an Atlesian battleship circling lazily around Atlas’ perimeter high above the floating city. One look, though, and Jaune’s stomach was spinning. It must have been evident on his face because Abraham snorted and added, “You can list preferences and decide not to go Dry Navy, Arc. Lots of people have preferences. And besides, your vertigo would come up in the medical and mental evaluation.”

“That’s… Good.” He didn’t have a better word for it and smiled weakly as a result. 

“Yeah, I s’pose it would be as bad as your vertigo and motion sickness are.” Jaune groaned his embarrassment at the man’s smirk and the smirk turned into an outright bark of laughter. Shaking his helmeted head and leading him up the stairs of the building, he added, “And if your Aura readings are high enough who knows. Maybe you’ll get slated for Specialist training and get transferred into Atlas Academy.”

“Atlas Academy?”

“Like Beacon, except-”

“No, I know what Atlas Academy is. Come on now.” He wasn’t that dim, darn it. He knew the basics at least, even if he’d never thought he’d end up going. His dad had been clear that that wouldn’t come out of his pocket, and there just weren’t jobs in Ansel that could let him fund it on his own. “I just thought I was too old to start training to be a Huntsmen is all. That’s what my dad always said.”

“Yeah, well, you are.” Jaune shot him a disbelieving glare and he waved him off, “But you’re not too old to enlist and get trained up to be a Specialist. Similar job, but different training. More standard, at least to start, so you can get trained more efficiently. A decade of training streamlined to only a scant few years.”

“Really?”

“Assuming you pass basic training, and the physical and mental evaluations… Yeah.” He couldn’t contain his excited smiled and the man laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Escorting him along he said a final, simple, “Come on. I’ll sponsor your enlistment so you can get straight to training. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up in my unit one day?”

Jaune certainly hoped so. He wanted nothing more than to pay the man back for all his help, bringing him here and helping him get registered. The path would be hard, he was sure, and he had no illusions otherwise. But at the end, it’d have all been worth it. And he owed it all to his father and Abraham.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Not a full chapter, but it’s more of a prologue of an experimental idea. This might get added to the rotation, or might never get touched again. Depends on reception and inspiration, but for now, consider it on irregular rotation like The Way and Arclight Foundries both are, getting worked on when I take breaks or the writing bug strikes me down.

Hope you enjoyed the taste~!


	2. Prologue II - Lucky You, Huh?

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Grand Priestess, Luna Haile. 

High Priests, Alvelvnor, Gage. 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek, Emperor of All

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Stonecold, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

With Abraham beside him, enlistment didn’t take more than an hour and some change. A short interview in a well furnished office that looked and felt like a councilor’s office from school, complete with the smiling young woman and the very stereotypical corner palm, was the largest hurdle. A bevy of questions like he’d already been asked were reasked alongside an equally large number of new ones, all gauging his goals, opinions and desires. In some cases, Abraham answered for him to give his ‘first response’, since Atlas wanted those to better gauge their enlistees first reactions. 

Apparently he passed, though, and he was let out with a black uniform like thick, pocketless jeans and a long sleeved grey shirt that cinched at his wrists to keep him warm. He asked what to do with his clothes and he was handed a simple black backpack, like one he’d carry to school except made of thicker material and inscribed with the Atlesian symbol on the top of the pouch, just under the zipper. With it he was handed a wallet with his new, Atlesian ID card in it and a Lien card. 

“Your stipend for the week. A few hundred Lien comprising a tenth of the pay you will receive during training but understandably can’t spend.” Abraham answered when he asked, tugging his sleeves straighter on his arms idly as an elevator carried them down to the lobby. The elevator was nice, if a bit clinical grey and white, and played a cheery tune while the man straightened his shoulders and murmured, “You’ll get the shit for slouching.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, Sir.” He corrected him, spinning him around and pointing a finger in his face. “Your behavior reflects on me now, Enlistee Arc. Get your manners squared away.”

“Yes, Sir.” He nodded, earning a nod in response from the man. He let him go, but Jaune stayed facing him and asked, “Why did you sponsor me, though? Is that really part of the favor with my dad?”

“No, it wasn’t. I’d never make a recommendation for a favor.” Was all the man said in response, giving him a shake of the head when he opened his mouth to ask what it had been for if not that. But he knew better than to push a man doing him a kindness and left it at that, rather than aggravate him.

He'd been raised to be polite, after all.

The rest of their ride was completed in silence until, outside the building, the man offered him a hand. Hesitantly, he took it and the man shook it firmly, smiling, “Welcome to atlas, Jaune. You’re in the army now, boy.” Releasing his hand, he jerked his head back the way they’d come, “Two blocks to the hotel. Show your ID to the desk-man, and he’ll give you a key. After that, do what you want. Sentries will give you directions anywhere and an escort too if you give them your ID card and they haven’t been tasked.”

“Sentries?”

“Sorry, the Knights.” He answered, gesturing at a pair holding security at the base of the stairs, mechanical heads slowly pivoting right to left. “Mobile Infantry call them Sentries, since they post up like that usually. They’re kinda crap at anything else aside from being a distraction but hey, a distraction is plenty fine to me.”

“Ah.” Made sense, he supposed. Awkwardly, he smiled and nodded, “Well, okay, then. Thanks for… Explaining that.”

“Not a problem.” The man answered, tapping his helmet and grimacing. Shooting him a last nod, the soldier turned and said a parting, “Good luck in training, Enlistee. Look forward to meeting you again!”

“You too!” He shouted at the man’s back, earning odd looks from the soldiers and other people around him. Smiling, he waved to them and tossed nods in hello, murmuring, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

With awkward stares boring into his back all the way, he left, making his way to the hotel. A simple building where he was met with a smile and a ‘Thank you for your service’ when he was given his key. Something that struck him as odd, since he’d only just enlisted, but that he simply smiled and nodded to in answer. What else was he supposed to do, after all? Correct them and be rude for no reason when they were only being kind to him? And besides, the smiles, thank yous and praise made him feel good.

Especially from the pretty girl that had handed him the key, who added quietly, “You, um, look good in your enlistment fatigues, too.”

She was pretty, thin and blonde and older than him. Out of his league in a dozen ways, but she was talking to him. Because of his uniform, he figured, even if it wasn’t a proper uniform at all. Nervous, he stammered an awkward, “U-Uh thanks, I guess?” 

And then he left, pausing to look back and see her smiling at his back for a moment before adjusting his pack and continuing on. When he got to his room, a simple little single with a television and an included bathroom but not much else, he chucked his backpack on the bed and sighed, “Damn it, Jaune… She was cute, too.”

But she was out of his league, and even now he felt like his heart would pound right out of his chest. Later, he decided, he’d go and try to talk to her again. Eventually, though, it was dark and he turned in early. Early to bed, early to rise, his mother had always told him as he grew up.

Good advice, he figured.

XxX----XxX----XxX

“Late to bed, early to rise, fuckwads!” A voice bellowed one morning two weeks later, Jaune groaning alongside his twenty three fellows, pulling themselves out of bed. 

He dropped from the top bunk and grunted, landing awkwardly and stumbling. A hand caught him by the collar of his white sleep shirt and dragged him back, the ever-jovial, tan face of his bunk-mate greeting him with a gentle shove into his bunk. He blinked and his uniform, the same in almost every way as the ones he’d been given back in Atlas proper, smacked him in the face. Courtesy of the very same bunk-mate, who chuckled through his swears and flailing arms. 

“Come on, you blonde git.” Tin Mann said in that thick, Vacuoan accent he had. His head had been shaved, but the rest of him matched his accent, with the kind of dark, sun kissed skin and warm brown eyes typical of some of the tribes of Vacuo. “We’re on the clock. We gotta run before they shut the cafeteria doors!”

“Yeah.” He nodded, stomach rumbling, “We definitely do.”

Every morning was like that. One of the numerous armed and masked training sergeants came in to scream them awake and Jaune half-fell out of his bunk. Then Tin would catch him, toss him up against his bunk, and assault him with his uniform. After that they ran to the mess to shovel in breakfast before the bell rang, or they missed out and ran hungry until dinner. After that was morning physical training, as always, running laps in the snow of the tundra where the camp had been set up, far under Atlas’ floating bulk. Harsh and isolated enough to condition them, but close enough that Atlas could protect them, he figured.

When he had time to think, that was, running physical training from before dawn to just after noon.

For an hour after that was maintenance training, where they practiced breaking down and fixing parts of armor purposefully damaged in specific ways. Replacing an armor plate that had a furrow carved in it like a Grimm might leave, for instance, or replacing a spent power cell that ran the warming systems of the amor. The same went for the weapons, replacing broken components or spent power cells that ran the suites that connected to the armor’s helmet and HUD, monitoring ammunition and the like.

It was complicated and annoying to fix purposefully damaged armor, but then, at least he got to do it sitting down. Usually, that was, assuming that they didn’t have a blizzard on hand to drill them in the heat of the storm. That had happened twice, now.

“Today’s a special day, Enlistees!” A sergeant came in barking, fully armored and thus warm where they only had their light fatigues. One of them stopped working to turn and look at him and the sergeant rounded on him, “Did I say to stop working? You’ll be briefed while you patch your kit out in the field, too!”

“Yes, Instructor Sergeant!” The young woman grunted stunnedly, tired but focused in the same way they all were.

“Now then, since the dumbasses are back to the grind, I get to tell you all the good new.” He physically saw the wiry little woman, Mistralian and named Rhea Sky though they never spoke, bristle at his words. The sergeant had to have too, but he didn’t comment on it. He was one of the kinder instructors they had, by his estimation. Smiling, he spread his arms and called out, “Partner assault course with armor and stunner rounds, fifteen minutes! Best score gets tomorrow off!”

Everyone froze in their work, this time, heads snapping up. Most snapped back down instantly to get to work, but he didn’t call any of them out.

The aptly named Assault Course was little more than an assortment of about a dozen buildings made of cheap plywood in the barest facsimile of an Atlesian street and built on a bit of a hill outside. Apartments to either side, a wide open street, and metal hulks shaped roughly like cars and trucks along the sides. Partners started at one side and advanced, clearing and approaching as they liked but not knowing where the randomly placed droids were. So anyone not careful ended up stunned and thus out of their match, ‘dead’ and graded for it. Fail too many courses, and you got a warm bed and a full meal.

Back up in Atlas, that was.

“He’s hammering them today.” Mann grunted when Jaune was armored up and standing beside him, Atlesian rifle held across his chest comfortably. 

Together, they watched another pair - Reyes and Brown - were ambushed from behind by a pair of white-armored droids that together stunned them into submission, their armor locking up as they fell. The white droids converged on them, kicked their weapons away and planted final shots into their chests as they struggled against their own seized up armor. The last shots signalled ‘lethal damage’ and a buzzer sounded, calling an end to the match as an Instructor Sergeant came out with his de-stun baton to let them up and dress them down.

“The hell are those white Knights?” Jaune asked quietly, long since converted to the joys of colorful language and how well it punctuated his words. His mother would have washed his mouth out with soap, but then, she’d probably been refining her switch swinging techniques ever since he left. “They’re a whole different game than the old 100s… Flanking maneuvers, ambushes, hell, one of them grappled Greene.”

“They carry swords, too.” Jaune blinked, cocked his head, and gestured with a hand to the collapsible sword currently shaped like a rectangle on Mann’s waist and the man nodded. “Yeah, just like ours. Can use ‘em like us, too.”

“What the hell…?”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Mann sighed, shaking his head as the last pair limped out, sore in more ways than just physical. Quietly, his partner murmured, “If their heads weren’t literally too small, I’d think we were up against Specialists or some shit…”

“Arc! Mann!” The Instructor Sergeant snapped out, catching both of their attentions and earning sharp, loud ‘Yes, Instructor Sergeant!’ from both of them. Beside him, another, taller man stood silently, hands clasped behind his back and lips a flat line. “You two are up. Try to fucking impress me unlike the rest of your damn class, all right?”

They sighed, snapped ‘Yes, Sirs’ and shuffled towards the large gate in the fence and forcefield array that ran around the arena. Their start point for the drill was at the end of the street behind what they’d been told to consider their downed transport, with the droids taking the place of ‘White Fang soldiers’ who’d hit it, and they needed to reach ‘rescue’ at the end of the road. In reality, it was just the supply delivery truck, parked beside the barrier and another Knight holding a flag they had to touch to win.

Really broke the immersion, he felt, but whatever.

“Hook right, into that apartment. Roof to roof until it becomes a problem. Then we figure it out.” Jaune ordered, technically the leader of their partner group. The man nodded quietly, taking his start position on the other side of the truck, leaning against the cover of the door with his rifle at the ready

Jaune, playing the part, did so as well.

No sooner had the start buzzer sounded did they hear pulse weapons fire, punchy burst echoing as rounds bit into their doors. He tried to step out and felt the wind of a round, and so dove back behind the door. Through the open compartment of the inside of the truck, he saw that Mann was in the same state, pinned and unable to move, and swore loudly. Using the window, he stood and peaked over the edge, ignoring the rounds that punched through the glass in answer.

“Six, apartment left side, fourth floor and fifth, sixth and seventh window from the entry door!” He called out, ducking back down as another round punched through the glass where his face had been. Glass sprinkled down his armor but he ignored it, using their helmet communicators to call over, “You spray, I’ll lay?”

“Roger roger!” The man responded, rolling his shoulders and adjusting the grip on his rifle. Stepping out just enough to see, he held the rifle out further and started firing randomly, sending bursts scattering along the side of the building. 

One of the droids spasmed as a round bit through its shoulder on pure luck, but Jaune ignored it and waited until the droids had entirely focused on his partner. Once they had, he stepped clear and took careful aim, putting three bursts out before the droids even noticed he’d started firing on them. The machines were better than the 100 series, to be sure, but they were still not quite up to Human level. The machines fell and, stepping free, the two of them started to head towards the apartment building to their right, aiming to use the fire escape to scale it rather than try and clear the building.

The made it three steps before a Knight dropped in front of them, kneeling and flicking a sword to full length.

“Shit!” Jaune swore, backpedaling into Mann and shoving him back. 

The machine lunged and Jaune’s rifle came up, catching the end of the stun-blade and clattering down in front of him for it. Mann’s rifle slid between his arm and side as they scrambled back and the machine fell, chest sparking from a dozen holes. A glance to his rifle told him it wasn’t useful, the sword-made gouge having furrowed through the top of the rifle and into the firing section, so he slid back behind his door with Mann behind him, using him as a shield since he was down his rifle. 

Which, eh, no offense taken.

Four more droids stepped into the windows of the building they’d aimed for and Mann snarled a curse that had him blushing, scrambling through the driver’s compartment to get back to his side. Down a rifle, down half a magazine, and they’d only just managed to get back to the starting position. Five more droids were advancing out of an alley a few yards ahead, too, advancing on them while those in the window kept them pinned. A bit futile of an effort, pinning him when all he had was his sword.

“Because of course those assholes don’t hand out sidearms for this…” Why, he had no idea, but he hadn’t been issued one. Neither had his partner, for that matter. “People hotwiring cars on the damn street have sidearms, but the greatest military on Remnant doesn’t hand out anything.”

Wait... Hotwiring. Cars. Trucks. The damn truck’s engine was supposed to be ruined, and they had to play along with it, but it had wheels. And wheels kind of obviously rolled if they were pushed, engines or not. And they were at the top of a slight hill. As hard as he possibly could, since he was the strongest of their pair by far, he slammed his shoulder into the door not once but twice. 

When it didn’t budge, he started to laugh, leaning his head against the inside of the door.

“Arc, are you going to explain the joke to me or should I wait until you publish your damn routine?” Mann called over, kneeling behind his door and pulling another stack from his waist to replace the spent one in his rifle.

“Get in, smash the window, and suppress them.” He ordered instead, cracking his neck and meeting the other man’s eyes. Or, well, his visor but such didn’t matter. Because he said, grinning, “I have an idea. You just need to steer us straight.”

“Oh shit…”

Mann wasn’t particularly enthused about his idea but did as he said, practically crawling into the floorboard and once again spraying random fire at the droids in the building. The droids did as he’d hoped, focusing their fire on the window of the truck, and Jaune crouched low. This time, he slammed his shoulder into the juncture that connected the door to the truck itself. A round smacked into his armored shin, freezing up the foot, but he ignored it and pushed anyway.

A stiff leg would work for what he needed anyway.

It was hard but, empty as it was since they hadn’t loaded it up for the scenario, the truck began rolling inside a few seconds. The incline of the hill was slight, so Jaune was forced to push it a bit further than he’d have liked, but he managed to leap into the rolling truck before any more shots hit him. With his leg, he couldn’t hide in the floorboards like man did, but that was fine.

Instead, he leapt into the back and laid there, panting, sweating and watching dents pockmark the top of the truck. The droids in the road crunched as they were crushed, the armored hulk picking up speed as it went. Now rounds were pockmarking the sides of the truck, too, as what had to be a dozen more droids opened up on it. It didn’t matter, though, the small arms couldn’t punch through. And even if they had, they were laid out, safe and sound, so the shots would probably miss.

Then the truck’s front hit something and came to a stop, jerking to the side a bit.

“How close?” Jaune demanded as he rolled over, ignoring the rounds punching into the truck.

“Ten feet out!” Mann answered, grinning, “And now I have an idea.”

“Fuck me…”

“Couldn’t pay me!”

“What’s your idea?” Asshole, he didn’t add, though the smirk told him Mann was well aware of the unstated end of the sentence.

“Well, the outside of the truck is armored, but the inside isn’t.” Mann grunted, jerking a thumb at the door beside him. Or, more specifically, the hinge of the door. Smiling, the man added, “You said you wanted to be a knight when you were younger, yeah?”

“God damn it...” The man had never been willing to let him live that down ever since he told him about it. Sighing, he shrugged, “Sure, let’s do it. Can’t fuck us anymore than we are right now, right? Help me rip one of these seats out, though, so we don’t get shot while we do it.”

Using the seat as a shield, he knelt while Mann worked the barrel of his weapon along the hinge of the door, boring holes in it with the rounds. The droids’ shots could pierce the cotton and faux leather, of course, but between pinging off its frame, them not being able to see him, and the thickness of the seat, the worst he got hit with was spent, ineffectively slow rounds pinging off his armor. At that speed, they wouldn’t have punctured, so his training armor’s sensors didn’t read it as a wound.

Lucky him.

“Got it!” Mann called over his shoulder, “Push it off with your shoulder like the damn god of misusing motor vehicles you are and lets get to the damn flag.”

Rolling his eyes he turned and slammed his shoulder into the inside of the door, the metal giving way as he let the seat go. Mann took it and held it up, using it the same way he had while he hefted the huge truck door. It weighed a lot, but then, he was the strongest member of their pair and came from strong stock, so he could hold it. 

“Ready?” Mann nodded and shouted a ‘roger’ and Jaune took a breath, and, as loud as he could, ordered, “Charge!”

Together, they sprinted towards the stock still droid not ten feet way, watching them impassively. Rounds rained down on them and e grunted as they slapped into his side and arm, freezing them and making him hobble on two mostly locked up legs. Halfway there, a round smacked Mann in the back of the head and he sagged, swearing all the while as his armor seized upon him for the ‘lethal’ shot. 

Staggering as rounds smacked into his back, he didn’t so much tag the droid as tackled it, hands wrapped around the rod of the flagpole while the ending buzzer sounded.

He expected a dressing down for that but instead, the Instructor Sergeant simply came over and started tapping the locked up limb components. Jaune rolled over and the man offered a gloved hand, which pulled him up.

Quietly, the man asked, “Whose plans were these?”

“Arc’s for the first.” Mann answered for him, “Mine for the second, but only because the bastard is so damn strong.” After a moment the man swallowed and added a quiet, “Uh, Instructor Sergeant, Sir.”

“Hm.” The man tapped his helmet and the front armor slid apart and back along the helmet, a safety feature in case of power outages. Smiling when they both snapped to attention at recognizing him, he introduced himself with an offered hand, “I’m Specialist Clover Ebi, Enlistees, Atlesian AceOps.”

“Jaune Arc, Sir.”

“Tin Mann, Sir.”

“At ease and shake my hand.” He chuckled, the two enlistees doing as ordered stiffly. Smiling, he turned to look at the truck and murmured, “You know, we wanted to bring in a truck that got wrecked out on patrol yesterday. Blizzard snowed it in, though, and we wanted the 300 series tested today, so your truck had wheels. Lucky you, huh?”

“Yes, Sir.” They both answered, still straight backed and anxious with a known Huntsmen in front of them.

“And I’m here replacing one of my team since she got ill, too. She was only going to watch the droids and report back, but I have authority to scout for the Specialists.” The man, a personal soldier to Ironwood himself no less, smiled and cocked his head. “Recruit ‘em straight into Atlas Academy. You know that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, I could commend you and you could go to the mess for a hot meal and your day off tomorrow, since they’re taking the wheels off the truck now…” Jaune winced sympathetically at that and the man chuckled. “Or,” the man added, “I could talk to either of you about Atlas Academy, and its enrollment options. You’d be separated, of course, and tested for Aura capabilities, but… Would you like to know more?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Yes, please!”

He wasn’t ashamed that his voice cracked or that his decorum slipped, but the man’s chuckle made him fluch. Clapping them on the shoulder, he stepped by and waved for them to follow him, “Well, come on, then. Let’s get you up to a hot and a cot in Atlas with the rest of the Specialist hopefuls while we get our Aura activator in from Mistral.”

“Mistral, sir?” Jaune asked, curious but following him. Clover gave him a look with his brow raised and Jaune explained, “I thought that the Specialists had people who handled it domestic, Sir.”

“Yeah, but it’s a diplomatic thing, apparently.” Clover shrugged dismissively and added, tiredly, “Not to mention most of our Specialists are in the field, here or in Vale. Didn’t hear it from me, but apparently Beacon’s headmaster requested the general send some more subtle support.”

Quietly, and anxiously, Jaune shot his partner a look. The man simply shrugged and, quietly, they followed him to strip out of their dinged and dirty training armor. Then they boarded a gunship and circled up and away, fully a week early, towards Atlas for further testing.

XxX----XxX----XxX

I had the writing bug.

Sue me.

Got tired at the end and had difficulties with Clover’s character, sorry. Now watch me make him pop up here and be a traitor or something.

Anyway, to put the advisory out there, no. Jaune will not basically be ‘Jaune just like in RWBY but in Atlas, lol’. Specialists are a military arm, he was near to finishing basic, and I am running Atlas Academy differently to, say, Vale. More military, military operations, etc. It won’t be classes and the like in the same sense. So I guess you could argue I am making a semi-AU Atlas Academy and should have tagged that but eh, we don’t actually really know how Atlas handles all its stuff.

Apologies.

Glad you all are enjoying the premise~!

XxX----XxX----XxX

Talon ibn La Ahad :  
I’m totally not doing that on purpose. >.>

Zenith Tempest :  
I anticipated such problems, and using a bit of writing fuckery, have an idea I’m intending to try out with this. Ozpin’s group will of course show up eventually given, you know, Ironwood, but such is unavoidable. And will be, er, tweaked somewhat.

Vic Grey :  
By support I mean Reviews like this and Supporter interest. Got a lot of the former, none of the latter but eh, might continue this anyway. We shall see.

I Like Anime a Lot More :  
Your grammar is fine. A note on Overlord, it is technically finished. The next book will be out some time from now, once I have finished planning it out.


	3. Prologue - Finale

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espa Cole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

JUST UPDATED THE LIST, MESSAGE IF YOU ARE MEANT TO BE ON IT AND I MADE A DUMB

XxX----XxX----XxX

Atlas was a short hop and skip on an Atlesian transport up from the ground base, with a direct line for craft coming and going from the training location for a variety of obvious reasons. A simple order from Specialist Ebi and they were allowed to land near Atlas Academy itself, a rarity for such transport craft coming from the training base. They touched down at a small cluster of buildings surrounding a tall, domed building set off to the side from Atlas Academy proper. 

Stepping out he was thankful for the heavy armor’s thermal insulation, as limited as it was. Even with Atlas’ thermal protections and environmental systems, winds still blew, and they blew hard and cold in the Fall of Atlas. Shrill wind whistling through the high, sharp roofs of Atlas’ architecture carried snow that melted before they got closer to him. But the chill remained, nonetheless, carried by the howling wind of a building storm. 

And blowing cold across his face, enough so he wanted nothing more than to cover his chin and lips for warmth. But discipline won out, for he and his training partner both, and so he kept his hands at his sides. Used to the chill and used to ignoring it, but thankful, at least, for the warmth of Atlas’ systems between the hard gusts. At least for the few moments before they were led inside, following Specialist Ebi’s lead.

“Update from High, boys.” The man started as they walked, passing by troopers of all kinds as well as security droids and officers. All of whom were working on something and none of whom paid them any mind. “Night of rest and a shower, tests tomorrow. Full physical, aptitude analysis, mental evaluation, the works. You pass and day ends with Aura activation and mil-path Specialist induction.”

“Understood.” The two soldiers answered, his partner, Mann, taking the lead and asking, “What kinda numbers are we looking at?”

“Well, I know I said you’d be with the other hopefuls, but…” Ebi shrugged and sighed, as though making a decision, and finally spread his arms in a gesture that was part mock surrender and part stretch. “To hell with it, I guess. Who on Remnant would you tell that it would matter?”

“Sir?”

“There’s not really all that many new Specialist hopefuls, kids. Atlas has been needing more traditional Hunters and with relations with Mantle…” Ebi trailed off meaningfully, stopping and turning to meet their eyes through their armored visors. Jaune looked around them for him discussing what had to not be meant to be talked about, but found only a suddenly empty hallway. His surprise must have shown, even with the helmet, because the man chuckled and let his Aura flare, smiling. “Aura means Semblances, boys, and mine brings luck. Don’t overthink it, just lean into it.”

“Really?” His father, back in Ansel, had always warned against relying on Semblances like those. They were always too… “Convenient.”

“It’s always worked out for me, yeah, Arc. Word from your uppers, rely on your Semblance. The Gods’ gift to man, Semblances. Well, long as you get a good one...” He shrugged after a half-second, seeming to put the topic to bed and moving on. Giving them each a look he frowned and sighed, shaking his head. “Head Specialist Schnee does not want you knowing this, so you keep your mouths shut. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Specialist.”

“Good kids. Yeah… Good kids.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and then shrugging. Shaking his head he forced a stiff smile and started to explain, “Specialists are Hunters, but militarized. One of you has a slot open in Atlas Academy, on the mil-path. The other, whoever has the lowest evals, will go back to basic tomorrow evening. Back to standard trooper training.”

“Only one of us…?” The man had said they’d be separated. Apparently, Jaune supposed, that was a more literal concept than they’d assumed. “I figured we’d be on other teams, split up like enlistees always get, but…”

“Sir, what...” Mann asked, giving him a sidelong glance and grimacing, he sighed tiredly. A long day of training and tense revelations would do that to a man, Jaune supposed. He certainly felt the fatigue himself. “What are the evals looking for, Specialist Ebi? If we’re competing…”

“Not supposed to tell you that.”

“Weren’t supposed to tell us what you already did, either.” Jaune pointed out calmly, stepping closer to the man and nodding. “Already broke the rules, Sir. My father always told me, more rules don’t mean anything after you break the first one.” He added after a second, and quieter, almost pleading, “Please, Sir. Tell us what we’re going up against tomorrow.”

“Why should I?” The man asked, sharp eyes narrowing. After a moment, green eyes searching Jaune’s body movement and what he could see of his face, he explained, quietly like he was trying to hide it. “I already told you, Arc, Mann. Mental, physical, Aura check. Evals, plain and simple.”

“But…”

“But, Arc?”

“I don’t...” He paused to consider what he wanted to say, what he felt, for a moment and then grimaced and pursed his lips. “Fuck it.” “But, Sir, I don’t like this. We shouldn’t be forced to compete against each other. Kick each other down to get ahead. It’s… It’s wrong.”

“Hm.” The man gave him a long once over, as though analysing him. Looking for something Jaune couldn’t guess at, only pursing his lips when their eyes met again. Turning to his partner, Ebi asked, “And you?”

“Sir?”

“What’s your opinion, Mann?” He asked with a small tilt of his head and a small smile. “Out of curiosity.”

“I… Think that it makes a lot of sense, Sir.” Jaune grunted a ‘seriously’ and his training partner crossed his arms and shrugged, speaking as though it should be obvious. “Only the best advance in the Atlas Military, Sir. And they don’t kowtow, either. If there’s only one spot it only makes sense that only one of us can advance. And that means competing, aware of it or not, and in an arena or not.”

“Mann…”

“Stow it, Arc.” His partner sighed, shaking his head. “Was good while it lasted, but it’s lasted long as it was going to. We should get some rest, before tomorrow.” He affected a smile, then and added, jokingly, “But I mean, least we both got soft beds to look forward to, yeah?”

“I guess…”

“Down the hall, two doors on the left, look for the drones standing outside ‘em.” Clover grunted when his eyes turned to the man. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder he smiled and ordered, “Stow your armor in the locker at the end of the bed, eat the food waiting for you, and get some sleep.”

“Sir.”

“...Understood.” Jaune didn’t meet either of the other men’s eyes as he walked after that. He simply went to the little dorm, and changed into the simple Atlesian pajamas waiting for him. Locking the armor away, he sat down to eat and sighed. Poking the potatoes idly, he reminded himself, as he so often had to in the worst moments of training, “Anything to get there, Jaune. Anything to get there.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

General Ironwood reclined in his chair, warm mug in hand, while he watched the sky outside Atlas. Full of warships, buzzing fighters, and lazily wobbling transports. The sky was dark, more for the storm clouds hovering near, pregnant with snow and ice, than anything, but he didn’t mind. Such was the norm for Atlas’ weather and, to him, it held a fierce beauty all its own. As much because of its appearance as for its effects.

At the end of a week of gales and frost, he knew, practically every Grimm in the area would be dead or moved on. Which opened up so many options for he and his men to spread out and entrench. If he could keep the Fang at bay, he could seize mines lost t the Grimm, or even seize the old fortifications spread around the tundra encompassing Atlas to protect the space around him. Around his Kingdom, rather. Though in truth, Salem meant that both had to be protected. But there were so many options, so many considerations…

A chime from his Scroll broke the silence of the room and, with a flick of a finger, he heard Clover’s quiet voice, “General Ironwood.”

“Clover.” The man answered, sounding amused in a way for his terse and respectful manner of address. Smiling thinly, he took a drink of his tea, “I am going to guess from your tone of voice that you’ve gotten some of the answers we wanted.”

“I have, Sir.” The man sighed, static crackling across the comm-link as he did. Normally not a problem, but with the storm closing it, some static was to be expected. Such was more than normal for Atlas to have to deal with, unfortunately enough. “Arc and Mann are both clever and good combatants. Mann is the better marksmen and suppression operative, while Arc is better at close to medium ranges. Both of them are good at planning, but Arc is better at rapid, out of the box sorts of plans. Mann feeds off of them, from what I saw.”

“Mhm. I’d heard as much beforehand.” The record matched that evaluation, too, as well as the various Instructor Sergeants’ reports. A thick stack of heavy reading, but then, Clover had been there for a reason, having read the reports himself a week prior. James himself had… Skimmed, but he trusted Clover’s judgement. “I didn’t send you to get what we already know confirmed, though, Clover.”

“I know, Sir.” Another static-filled sigh and the specialist started to explain what he’d learned. “Arc is a bit quick to question his superiors, from what it looks like. I refused to answer more questions and he pushed me on it. Mann just nodded like my word was gospel, even though we weren’t operating under normal regs.”

“A problem, but not really too severe of one.” As long as he obeyed orders, questions were more than acceptable. And while he asked a lot of questions, what he’d read showed Arc obeyed orders. A free thinker, then, but disciplined and willing to set aside questions when true orders were present. “And what did they say about our little competition?”

“Mann said it was good, made perfect sense, and didn’t have any complaints.” Clover answered simply, sounding for all the world as though he were angry for what the man had said. Which, if Ironwood knew him as well as he thought he did, was probably the case. “Arc didn’t like it. He said it was wrong, making them compete. He only let it go when I ordered them to get some rest before their evals tomorrow.”

“The fictitious ones, you mean.”

“Yeah, well.” Clover chuckled, a low and unamused sound, “They don’t know that, Sir. Kinda the point, if I remember what you said about it.”

“Oh, I know. I remember our discussion on the matter, Clover. And the plan I decided on.” And he also remembered Clover not liking the idea, enough so in fact that Ironwood had made it an order. But once he had, the Specialist, loyal to the breaking point, had simply snapped a salute and nodded. “So? What are your honest thoughts?”

“On?”

“You know what on.” Ironwood rolled his eyes, used to the man not making things easy on him. Such was kind of in his nature, really. Much like the other man whose life revolved around his luck, in that respect… “I told you to get me a new Specialist candidate for our operations in Vale. So we could get them trained and ready to join the Specialists properly.”

“I feel like Atlas Academy would be the best place to train someone up…” 

“He’ll be studying there as well, rest assured, but you know my opinions on training field Specialists in classrooms.” Soldiering was best learned in the field, with a rifle in your hand. And soldiers he would be embedded with were more likely to respect a fellow soldier rather than a flashy, classroom trained Hunter.

And now was as good a time as any to test out new roles for his Specialists, if they could find a good candidate.

“If you want my recommendation…” Ironwood grunted his assent since he did, very much want the man’s opinion. And Clover knew as much, too. He figured the man was just trying and hoping for one last chance to not have to make the big call, he supposed. After a moment, though, Clover sighed and gave his answer. “Mann would be the best soldier, hands down. Bit of a better shot, and follows orders to the letter. More, he adheres to whatever his superiors tell him like glue.”

“Useful.” Ironwood agreed, “For a grunt.”

“But we don’t want grunts.”

“No, I don’t. Or at least, not here and now.” Simpler soldiers had their uses, to be sure. No matter how advanced their robotics and armor got, there would always be a need for men on the ground. Rifles and boots, and humans wearing both. Without them, they’d lose the trust of the people under their protection. “For now, we need leaders and tacticians, who can fight like a soldier. But they need to think for themselves well enough to actually be serviceable in the field, where orders aren’t likely to come.”

“Or help…”

“Clover.” Ironwood grunted shortly, “It’s late enough, and I know you are just trying to put off making your decision.”

“Yeah, because it’s not supposed to be my decision. It’s supposed to be the Schnee’s, Sir.” But with Winter away and busy besides, she couldn’t make it. Ironwood didn’t bother pointing it out, though, nor did he chide the man for speaking as he had to a superior officer. He was sure that Clover was aware of both things, and didn’t need it piled onto the stress he already felt. “...Arc.”

“Hm?”

“I want Arc, Sir.” Clover answered, voice more firm the second time he made the choice. Set on the choice now, Ironwood supposed. “He’s got the heart and the head for it, and he’s good at melee combat from the reports. So at the very worst, he’ll be a good assaulter. We can form up a team around that.”

“We could, yes.” A marksman to support at range and a suppression specialist to say the least. Add a couple basic riflemen and a field medic, and he’d already have a decent a decent fireteam. “See Mann escorted away without alerting Arc. As far as Arc knows, Mann will fail tomorrow’s evaluations. Or at least, Arc will outpace him.”

“I understand, Sir.” Clover responded in the curt, cool tone he always did in answer to orders.

“Good.” Ironwood nodded, taking a long drink of his now cold tea. Sighing, he set it aside and added, “Tomorrow, introduce him to our guest. I will have a team assembled per recommendations you send me tonight-”

“Yay…”

“-and with them, he and she will go to Vale.” Ironwood finished with a chuckle and a small note of sympathy for the no-doubt exhausted man. When Clover didn’t protest at all he nodded, more to confirm to himself than anything, and sighed. “I’ll let Miss Nikos and her manager know about the departure tomorrow evening. For now, get a meal in you, but I know you have squad files on hand already and need your recommendations by the time Arc’s Aura is active.”

“Understood, Sir.” And Brothers, but Ironwood could already hear the fatigue in his underling’s voice, even if it wasn’t terribly late. The exhaustion, he was sure, was for the work coming. A long night stretched ahead of him, after all. “Will that be all, general? Or shall I solve world hunger and bring eternal peace to the Kingdom while I’m out?”

“And how would you manage that exactly, Clover?”

“Oh I’m sure the local corner store has a guide book or some such. Maybe a guru in an alley that holds all the world’s answers in a cookie.” Ironwood snorted a laugh and Clover joined him, chuckling quietly. When in doubt, Clover, if no one else, could drag a small chuckle out of him. Regardless, though, “That is all, yes, Clover. I wish you a good night as well, and feel bad to have given you such work so late.”

“No, you don’t.” Clover chuckled and, rather unceremoniously, ended the call.

Sighing, the Atlesian general set the Scroll aside and opened a drawer, pulling out the bottle of medicine he had to take and tossing them into his jaw. Chewing them the way his doctor hated him doing, but which he always did since it worked and he hated swallowing pills, he stood and paced to the window. As if on cue, hail started pattering against his window, clattering into it before the ambient heating systems melted the ice and then sliding down as rain inside the same moment.

“I do feel bad, actually.” He murmured, even though Clover obviously couldn’t hear him. “But we all do what we must, in times like these…”

Idly, he wonder if, somewhere out there, Salem or her cronies were watching a storm pass them by too. Did they see the beauty in a storm, too? Or were they too preoccupied trying to destroy the world as they knew it? In the end, it wouldn’t matter, he supposed. One of them would die, and one of them would win.

“I wonder if Mister Arc will have an influence on things?” He murmured idly, shrugging after a moment and turning as his Scroll chimed. Flicking it open he sighed and retook his seat, scanning the files Ebi was already sending his way. “Ever the hard worker…”

XxX----XxX----XxX

Short chapter, I know, but wraps up the Prologue chapters wholly. And I didn’t want to tack it onto the first REAL chapter. Hope you enjoyed what was here. It’s at this point, the end of the Prologue, where I decide if this story will REALLY roll forward.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Kharn (Guest) :

Might could do, yeah.

Talon Ibn La Ahad :

Based on what we see in the show, it’s a mix of both, really. I hope to explore it a bit, going through this.


	4. The Strength

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espacole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

Come morning, instead of the screaming of a raid siren or the even louder screaming of an Instructor Sergeant, he was woken up by a gentle chime. Like a series of bells, just loud enough to disturb him and rouse him from sleep, but not so loud as to be annoying. It was almost musical, in fact, and pleasant enough. Standing in the comfortable pajamas he’d been provided and stretching, he felt truly rested for the first time in weeks and weeks. A soft bed with real blankets that was actually warm would do that to you, he supposed.

Who knew?

A knock sounded at the door to cut off his musings. Pulling it open he blinked and slid into an easy salute, “Specialist Ebi, Sir.”

“Arc. At ease and cut the decorum, it’s too early for it.” In direct opposition to his words, the man snapped a lazy salute in return. At it, and the man’s instructions, Jaune relaxed and stepped aside, waving with a hand to invite him in. “Thanks. And hey, a gift,” he grunted, stepping through and practically shoving the mug of coffee into his hands, “I understand they banned coffee down in the TC, and for good reason.”

“They said ‘if the snow and exercise doesn’t perk you up, then you can take the walk’.” Jaune nodded, taking an experimental sip of the drink and grimacing. 

“New to coffee?”

“Yeah, kinda. Didn’t drink it much back home.” He could get used to it, though, with enough time. It was warm, at least, and that alone would make it nice basically anywhere in Atlas. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, and another sip of the drink, he asked, “Are you here to take me to testing? I thought someone else was supposed to.”

“Yeah, well, there was a tiny change of plans. Blame High if you don’t like it, count yourself lucky if you do.” He shrugged and the Specialist returned the gesture, chuckling and folding his arms over his chest. “Finish your coffee and we’re headin’ out. Got a whole battery of tests for you today and gotta run through ‘em before noon.”

“Why does noon matter, Sir?”

“Not worried about not getting breakfast?” Ebi asked with a raised brow and a cocked head.

“Training camp skipped on breakfasts often enough I’m used to it, Sir.” The reason given was simply that on deployments, there might not be the time for proper breakfasts. Or the supplies. So better to get used to skipping morning meals while it was still safe to see who doing that would break. Nodding at the man, and knowing he was technically overstepping, he prodded, “Why does noon matter, Sir? Kind of an odd way to run the schedule, feels like.”

“It ‘feels like’ it’s odd?” The man parroted, eyes sharp and a brow raised in question. And challenge, too. “What makes it ‘feel’ like that, exactly, Arc?”

“I… Dunno. Uh, Sir.” He added the last after a second, caught off guard by the sudden challenge and hiding it in taking a drink of his coffee. It only bought him a second to think, but that was all he needed. Taking a breath when he was done, he shrugged, “Just a feeling, Sir. In my gut. Dad always said that a Huntsman should trust his gut.”

“Except you ain’t gonna be a Huntsman.” Ebi pointed out, “You’re aimin’ to be a Specialist.”

“Still good advice.” They were close enough to the same thing for him to apply the logic anyway, even if they were different in a variety of ways. Shrugging he added, gently, “If you can’t answer, or don’t want to, it’s fine, Sir. Just… Found it weird.”

“The VIP we got in from Mistral is headed out at noon, along with a handful of soldiers being assigned to Vale.” The man explained, waving it off when Jaune opened his mouth to ask more. Namely the obvious question, ‘why men were being sent to Vale’, and its brother, ‘what that meant’. “Above your paygrade, kid. You got tests today and after that, either back to the TC down there or on vacation for a few weeks until the academy opens up.”

“Well…” A vacation certainly sounded nice, to be sure. He had plenty of back pay from training to spend on it, too. He could distantly remember a movie he’d heard about and gotten excited over, buried somewhere under weapon maintenance drills… “I guess I prefer the vacation, Sir.”

“Good kid.” The man grunted, headed for his door. “Down your brown and come on. You have a day ahead of you. And don’t worry about your old training partner,” he added, with a wave and a smile over his shoulder, “one of my time is dealing with him.”

“O-Okay.” He felt kind of guilty for it but thoughts on Mann hadn’t actually been that heavy on his mind. Too early in the morning, and too much information buffeting him for it, he guessed. Quickly tossing back the lukewarm dregs of his coffee, he pushed off the bed and asked, “Should I, uh, get changed first, Sir?”

“Nah.” He waved him off, “No need. First is a physical, and you won’t need a uni for that. That goes well, and you’ll be getting a new uni anyways.”

“But I thought-”

“Come on now, no time for questions.” The man chided as he pulled the door shut behind him with a purposeful bang meant to drown out anything he could try to say. Jaune only shrugged, sat the mug down on his bed, and grabbed his shoes to follow him.

The next few hours were, as the Specialist had warned him, a battery of tests. Physical examinations, bloodwork, an x-ray of sorts to check the musculature of his body. There were other compulsory tests they told him they were running, as sure as he was that they weren’t a problem. Sexual diseases and allergies for one thing. His father had had each of them tested in Vale when they were younger for allergies and, well, he’d need the sexual part to get the disease part. Still, they wanted their own tests for ‘posterity and updated records’.

Jaune knew Atlas just didn’t trust Valean hospitals to test them to Atlesian standards, though. And he didn’t mind. Atlas did have the world’s best medical technology, after all.

Once that was done, he was given a bowl of oatmeal and two pieces of buttered toast to eat while he waited for the results to come, alone in a small waiting room with little more than lights, a table and a single chair. He downed it eagerly, hungry after not eating all that morning and glad for the food, even if it was kind of tasteless. No sooner had he finished the meal, the door to the little one seat waiting room opened, a grey metal droid carrying a new uniform in. It was the same kind of uniform he’d seen on others as they’d walked to his tests, with long white sleeves, long coat-tails and slightly poofy pants.

It was the uniform of a soldier proper, not an enlistee or hopeful. And his eyes widened for it, the young man stammering, “W-Wait, this is-”

“A Specialist’s uniform.” Clover’s voice called, the man beaming a smile and striding into the waiting room. At Jaune’s look of surprise, he explained, “Mann had a poorer physical potential result come back. Which means lower Aura, typically enough we rely on it. So he lost out.”

“Oh…” He felt bad for the man but at the same time, he could feel the excitement well up in him at the statement. Mann wouldn’t want his pity, so he let himself smile widely and take the uniform, holding it gingerly but tightly in his hands. Still smiling, he murmured, “I did it… Step on to being a hero, done.”

“Cus that doesn’t sound dorky at all.” Ebi chuckled, dismissing the droid with a nod and a wave. Jaune flushed and, as the door shut, started pulling of the pajamas to get into the crisp new uniform. Ebi was a soldier too, so neither he nor Jaune balked at the younger man changing in front of the older, Instead, Ebi explained, “Once you get your Aura, you’ll be granted the rank of ‘Specialist Private’. Better pay than a standard trooper, and you’ll be allowed to design your own kit of equipment.”

“Really?”

“Within reason, yeah.” The man shrugged, saying that in a very ‘obviously, idiot’ kind of tone for a man who he knew by reputation used a fishing pole as a weapon. He didn’t say that, though, for obvious reasons. When he didn’t say anything, Ebi kept talking, “For now, stick with what you know. A good rifle, somethin’ to beat people up with if they get to close, maybe a sidearm.”

“And a shield.” He nodded, Ebi raising an eyebrow. “I want a sword, a shield, and a rifle like I was trained with.”

“Makes sense, yeah. You did show pretty good performance in melee, according to your records. While you deal with our little show of good faith, I can get it logged for you.” He hadn’t been meaning to ask him to, but if the man wanted to take some of the work off him he wouldn’t argue. One thing did stand out, though.

“Show of good faith?”

“Politics.” The Specialist grumbled, shaking his head and shrugging. When Jaune only gave him a look, silently asking him to elaborate, the man sighed and started to talk in a bored, almost tired tone, “Girl up from Mistral. Letting her activate Specialist Auras, is a show of good faith to Mistral, even with as few enlistees as are coming into the program right now.”

“Ah. I see.” He didn’t, really, beyond ‘letting them touch the soldier’. Why would letting Mistralians activate Atlesian Auras be a show of good faith from Atlas? Regardless, he tucked his jacket around himself and adjusted his shoulders, and asked, “How do I look, Sir?”

“Like a Specialist.” The man grunted, grabbing his hat from from the table, flicking it open with practiced ease, and slamming it down over his short-cut hair. Spreading his arms out to either side like he was presenting him, the man stepped back and smiled, “Slap a pulse rifle in your hands, and I wouldn’t be able to pick you out from anyone else in a combat unit, about to head out on an op.”

“Good.” The uniform felt good too. Heavy in that protective sort of way, like his training armor but lighter. A lot lighter, in fact. Too much so, even. 

His opinion of that must have shown because Ebi chuckled, “You can wear heavier gear if you want, too. Arc. Just gotta request it. Lotta MI boys coming in end up running with more standard armor. Higher grade, but still, standard to design.”

“Yeah, I… Like the sound of that.”

“I’ll put it in the report.” The man grunted, again turning for the door after a glance at the clock, “C’mon, now. Mistrali wanted to spend some time gettin’ to know you before activating your Aura.”

“Why?” He asked quickly, doing the last button of his jacket and jogging after the older man. As they walked through the halls, soldiers and other specialists paid them small, polite nods that filled him with pride. Even if most of those were directed at the Specialist beside him, he still returned them eagerly, asking, “Why does she want to get to know me? She’s just activating my Aura.”

“Mistralians are just weird like that, Arc.” He shrugged, smiling amusedly at him when he saw him return a nod. Jaune flushed but he didn’t say anything, turning back around and ignoring him as they made their way through the halls. “Superstitious lot. They think it’s ‘touching souls’ and treat it like something magical for it.”

“That’s…” Weird, but in a way that kind of made sense, given that their ‘souls’ powered their Aura. Some were bound to have a more, well, spiritual application of that idea. Eventually, he settled on, “That makes sense, I guess. Kind of annoying, though…”

“Well, you can explain that to her when you see her, Arc. And have fun with that, too.” Clover said with a small, somehow knowing smirk. The kind that seemed to say he knew something about what Jaune had said, and found it funny either because Jaune didn’t know it, or because it was just a joke to him. 

‘An inside joke for one person’, as his dad would always say.

A few minutes later, and a short jaunt through the windy Atlesian street outside, he was brought to a hotel of all things. High end, with what looked almost like marble brickwork and stained glass for the lobby windows. Higher up, the windows were blacked out in the way that one-way glass always was. A measure taken to combat the glare that the clouds could reflect back from the city’s lights, he knew. 

Atlesian armored vehicles had the same tinting, so that their occupants didn’t get a flash of sunlight off ice and go blind, and so that if they were attacked and unconscious the Grimm might not see them. It was expensive to be sure, and he doubted the military use of it had even been considered. But, then again, this was Atlas, not Mantle. ‘Expensive’ was just a dirty word that got you raised eyebrows, and function was a secondary concern entirely. Like ‘help’ or ‘tolerance’. 

Not that he was allowed to say anything about it while in uniform, of course.

“Here for Miss Nikos.” Ebi reported at the desk as they approached it, sliding their uniform hats into their pockets neatly, the small Faunus woman behind it looking positively dwarven behind the massive mahogany desk. The girl nodded and took his ident-card, checking it while Jaune looked around. 

Around him, the rest of the lobby was just as fancy as the rich desk, with thick red carpeting and black, wooden walls. More rich mahogany filled the room in the form of lounge chairs, desks, tables and ornamental cabinets filled with silver. All manner of different kinds of paintings filled, from battles to generals and knights in shining armor. All of them, he figured, were of Atlesian victories. Or Mantle ones, for the more ancient battles. 

Which made sense, he figured, since this hotel was an officer’s and dignitaries one. Which meant that making good impressions was key, either to impress upon a visitor the ‘might of Atlas’ or make an officer of Atlas feel recognized. As his mother always said, to his older sisters whenever she thought he couldn’t hear, ‘stroke a man’s ego just right and he’ll do whatever you want him to’.

Only now did he realize why they’d all chuckled, flushing at the realization as the little Faunus looked up.

“Here you go.” The ram said, offering them a keycard and the man’s ident-card back. To him, knowing that Ebi wouldn’t be accompanying him further, she explained, “Miss Nikos is on the fifteenth floor in a private room, waiting for you. It’s a board meeting room, so there will be some snacks and drinks available, but you will be charged for them.”

“I’ll cover.” Ebi offered instantly, waving him off when he made to argue, “C’mon, kid. It’s your first day, let me buy you a drink.”

Shrugging, he agreed to the man’s suggestion and turned back to the woman, smiling, “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Oh, uh-” The white-haired girl flushed, eyes flicking to either side anxiously. Quieter, she murmured, “Clients don’t like it when we use our names, usually. I just go by miss Ram, or Miss Sheepy. Just, uh, whichever.”

“I’m not calling you that.” It was demeaning and racist, enough so that even Ebi was frowning at the practice. The older man’s confidence gave him enough of his own to speak, albeit quietly, “That can’t be legal.”

“It isn’t.” Ebi grunted shortly, folding his arms and smiling so that anyone watching wouldn’t think he was angry. The rapid tapping of his finger on his bicep, though, told Jaune he was plenty mad. Just like the young Arc himself was. “Let me guess, you’re ‘not required to answer to the names or offer them, but it’s preferred’.”

“For the guest’s comforts, yeah…” She shrugged, “Happier guests, better tips and more hours.”

“Well, racist monikers make me very unhappy. Very unhappy indeed. Why, I’ve half a mind to complain, matter-of-fact.” Jaune grunted, smiling and giving the woman a look to know he was joking. If his faux-posh voice hadn’t already done it which, judging from her little little smile, it had. “Now, thank you, Miss...?” 

“Thyme.” The girl chuckled, “Fiona Thyme. And you’re welcome, sir.”

With a small nod, he turned to leave, Ebi following him around and to the elevators. Waiting for them to arrive, Ebi bumped an elbow into his and smirked, “Got a thing for small and cute, eh?”

“W-What?”

“The receptionist.” Ebi grunted, bobbing his head slightly to the desk where he could just make out the little Faunus, just visible around the corner. “You. Got a thing for ‘em when they’re small and cute, don’t you?”

“Shut up…”

“Oh shit, you do!” Ebi turned, smiling in that shit eating way soldiers did when they were messing with each other, and took two steps back towards the exit. “I’ll get you her number too then, kid.”

“Don’t you dare or I’ll-”

“Relax, relax.” The man chuckled, turning and pointing a finger just as the elevator slid open, completely empty and with no one else around to board. “Straight shot and an empty lift? My my but you are one lucky son-of-a-bitch aren’t you? And hey, lucky me, I have to run, too. See ya, Arc.”

He gave the man a salute with one hand and another of the one-fingered variety at his waist, and the man chuckled. With that, though, he left and Jaune stepped into the elevator. A short trip up, thankfully without any stops for other guests somehow, and he was let out on a wide hallway with only scattered staff meandering through it. All Faunus staff, he noticed, like on the first floor. Faunus who, when he nodded to them respectfully, blinked in surprise before nodding back anxiously.

Unsettling, in a lot of ways, but nothing he could do anything about even if he knew what was going on. 

Nikos, and he still couldn’t place that name though it sounded so familiar, had a room that was easy to find. Two silver Atlesian drones outside, along with a Human minder, made that easy enough. The soldier, an old man covered head to toe in Atlesian armor and striped in officer red, stepped forward at his approach and grunted with a voice practically hew from raw rock, “Private Arc?”

“Yes, Sir.” He almost saluted, then realized he didn’t know the Specialist to trooper rank respects and froze. 

“You’re the higher. Leastways you will be once you show me your ident-card.” The man grunted, voice uniquely suited to sounded amused and aggravated all at once. Jaune found it in his breast pocket, where cleaners would leave it per protocol, and showed it to the man. He scanned it briefly and snapped to, the droids responding in kind. Jaune responded with one of his own and the man relaxed, “She’s waiting inside, Specialist-Private Arc. Kind of anxious and touchy, but eh, none of my business.”

“Thank you, sir.” Technically, he wasn’t supposed to call him ‘sir’ being a higher technical rank. But the man was older and clearly a veteran, armor well worn and pitted even for being clear. Worn in a way that screamed the man had spent a long time fighting even to Jaune’s less experienced eyes. Gesturing to the soe, flanked by rifle armed drones, he asked, “May I?”

“Of course, Sir.” The man nodded. 

At a signal from their handler, one of the drones reached to the side, arm moving almost unnaturally, to turn the knob and pull it open. Inside was, as expected, fancy and high end. A short hallway led from the door, lined by the same carpeting and black woodwork walls as the lobby and hall had been. At its end, just past a large suit of ornamental, ancient armor, was another door, resting open and letting him see Atlas’ sky through the window on the wall opposite of it.

“Hello, who is- Oh. It is you...” The woman that rounded the corner came to a halt, blinking owlishly. 

She had red hair and startlingly green eyes that stood out starkly from the tight sweatshirt and loose jeans she wore, the tags hanging off of both. Thick boots covered her feet, with soft soles and metal caps over the toes, and off a hip hung a sword. A beautiful circlet rested on her head and, combined with the rest of her ensemble and even how she spoke and sounded, gave him an odd sense of speaking to royalty mixed with modernity. A princess brought to the future and given modern clothes to wear.

“U-Uh, hi?” His voice cracked and he flushed, hiding the redness by looking down and patting his pockets as though looking for something. What, he had no idea, but he rambled on regardless. “U-Um, I, well, I’m the Specialist that… Was supposed to meet with you. Uh, Nikos, Ma’am. To, you know-”

“Get your Aura activated.” The woman smiled when he had to look at her to nod, but it wasn’t a cruel or mocking one. Instead, it was amused and genuine seeming. She nodded and turned, disappearing around the corner and calling behind her, “Then let us eat together. I would know you before I allow you to touch my very heart, Specialist.”

“Yeah, uh, Specialist Ebi told me.” He took the moment he had to catch his breath and focus before following her. He always was terribly with women… 

Especially the tall, powerfully built ones that could kill him if they wanted.

The meeting room was a rather simple thing, for all the hotel that hosted it was very much not. Leather-backed, comfortable chairs, the same carpets, walls and a black roof with the Atlesian symbol emblazoned in silver on the roof. Fluorescents in the corner lit it in stark white which glinted off the silvery steel of the long, ovular table used for the board meetings hosted here. 

At the head of the long table the woman had taken a seat, rich, leather-backed office chair turned to watch a distant Atlesian battleship drift by. She picked at the potatoes set on the tray beside her and murmured something he couldn’t make out. Curious, he took a seat across the table from the window, pulling his own tray of steak and spuds to him, and asked, “What was that?”

“N-Nothing.” She blinked, smiling in that fake, polite way that he himself had been trained to. The way one did to avoid getting into any trouble, of whatever form. Ignoring whatever she’d said, she offered a hand and a stiff, “Pyrrha Nikos. I’m… Sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Yeah, I have.” He grunted, taking her hand and feeling her stiffen ever so slightly in his grip before she relaxed and gave it a gentle shake. Smiling lopsidedly he picked up his fork and pointed it at her, “You are on the Pumpkin Pete’s cereal box.”

“I-I’m… I’m on what?”

“Pumpkin Pete’s?” She blinked, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, and he kept on. Kept playing his hunch. Bobbing the fork, and in terrible tune, he sand, “‘When you want somethin’ sweet to eat, grab you and your kids some from Pumpkin Pete’. Come on, you’re on the box. You gotta know it.”

“I… Of course I do, I had to learn it for commercials. Part of the… The contract.” Chuckling genuinely again and smiling fully, she leaned back and guessed at his game. “You know my cereal and ads.”

“I do.”

“Then you know who I am.” He raised an eyebrow, and she cocked her head to the side. “I introduced myself for the ads. And so, you see, you must know who I am if you know the jingle they made me sing. A jingle that, were it not for contractual binding, I would say I very much disliked.”

“Hey, that jingle was great.”

“It was horrible.” She stated simply, in the kind of tone he recognized from his sisters. One that brooked no argument, and earned hands held up in mock surrender for its use. This earned another quiet laugh from the woman, who shook her head and, smiling, asked, “If you knew who and what I was, then why pretend?”

“You know what my last name is?” He asked by way of answer, earning a somewhat apologetic ‘no’ from her. “Jaune Arc is my name. My full name, I mean. Do you know that name?”

“I know it, though only vaguely.” She answered, eyes growing distant as she fought to recall where and how she’d heard the name before. Chewing her lip cutely for a second she sighed and, finally, gave up. “Forgive me, Specialist Arc-”

“Jaune.” He cut in, smiling disarmingly when she blinked in slight confusion. “If we’re getting to know each other here, you can use my given name.”

“Jaune, then. As you like, and as I don’t dislike. I do not know from where I remember the name of ‘Arc’.” She smiled, shaking her head wryly and taking a sip of the clear water. Setting it down, she prompted him with a hand and a simple, “Please, if you would, enlighten me. I would quite enjoy it.”

“Well… The Arc family has existed for long enough we don’t actually know long we have been around. And almost all of the Arcs in history have been heroes of some kind. Mostly Hunters.” A statement that, understandably, drew eyebrows raised impressedly for his saying it. It was a big claim, after all, given the Grimm and the proclivity of Hunters to be overwhelmed and ripped apart. “My grandfather even fought in the Great War, carrying the ancestral Crocea Mors into battle.”

“A… Deep history.” She nodded, obviously missing the point he was raising.

“Yeah.” He nodded, leaning forward and giving her a hard look. On that had even the champion fighter blinking in surprise. “And a hell of a lot of expectations on me, on my family really, for it, too. What I would act like, be interested in. How many of my sisters would be warriors like dad. No one should be judged and coerced like that, by people who see a person's fame and history and nothing else.”

“So you understand…” He nodded and she frowned, looking mournful for a moment. “Is that why you became a soldier? Expectation? Some vain kind of duty, foisted onto you by your last name?”

“My sister married a technician and lives in Argus.” He answered, leaning back and starting to cut into his steak idly. Shrugging, he smiled and added, almost nostalgically even for having been the recipient of the punishment. “My family doesn’t care about fake obligations coming from our last name. I demanded my dad teach me, once upon a time, so I could ‘do what I was supposed to’ and he tanned my hide.”

“No, I became a soldier because I wanted to be a hero and my dad refused to train and lose a son. Because I wanted to help people, Pyrrha.” He gave her a smile and took a bite of his steak. Delicious, peppered, and well done just enough to be crispy on the outside. It was a good distraction from his biting nerves, hidden as they were by the discipline that had been drilled into him so he could face Grimm.

Grimm and, apparently, attractive Mistralian women. Who’d have called that?

Swallowing his bit and his nerves through a dry throat, he gave her a look and pressed, gently, “And I’m asking you to be my friend and help me. Give me what I need to help protect people, so I can be the hero my ancestors were, and that I want to be. Please.”

A long moment passed, the woman reflexively spinning her fork on the palm of her hand. Without even moving her fingers, somehow, but he ignored that. Instead, he kept his focus on those startlingly green eyes of hers. Then she sighed, turned her chair, and stood. Instead of pulling him up, though, she knelt before him and reached up to clasp the front of his coat and tug him the scant inches to her level. She closed her eyes and, for a moment he thought she might kiss him and began to panic.

Instead, she rested her forehead against his and began to pray, “For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul. And by my shoulder, protect thee.”

With the last of her words, he felt something in him stir. Like something dormant awakening and then rushing through him, hot like passion and fire yet cold like grief and ice. He sensed resignation and a kind of fear there, too, sparking deep down where he could only glance at it. Then it was gone, washed away by a feeling of power and headiness that rushed through him like a tempest ripping its way through a forest.

Had she not knelt, he knew he’d have let Pyrrha fall. As it was, she gasped and fell against him, head on his chest for a single, stunned moment. Pushing away she stood, shaky but on her own power, and smiled at the concern on his face, “It’s a rush, doing that. Especially when someone has so much Aura, as you do.”

“I… Do?” It was odd but, even though he couldn’t see it when he looked at his hands, he felt stronger. More whole, somehow.

“You do, yes.” She smiled, taking her seat and reaching for her plate. “Now, let us eat. And exchange our contact information. I’m starving after such a day and that ordeal, short as it was.”

“Sure, but… Contact information?”

“Yes.” She nodded, seeming sheepish now, oddly enough. “A piece of my soul is yours now. Did you think I would simply give a piece of myself to you in one night and never seek to speak to you again?”

“No, I guess not.” He smiled, reaching for his own plate without another word and digging in. She wasn’t the only one that was hungry, after all.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Simer :

...Yes. This. All of this.

Frosty Chops :

Well, keep looking, because when I have time I intend to keep workin’ on this.

Talon Ibn La Ahad :

I always enjoy your Reviews, mine friend!

Chendog :

There will be, to an extent, yes. But they won’t get SUPER swampy in the story. I have ideas around it, s’what I am saying.

Cdn Inquisition :

Indeed! Over-reliance on a single tool, even if it is always available, can ruin you. If you always count on having your rifle and so only train with IT, you would be in dire trouble should you be without it. RWBY could and would compensate quickly and without comment, whereas the Ops relied too much on their individual roles and Semblances.

That way lies defeat.


	5. The Assignment

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espacole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

His ‘vacation’ turned out to be anything but a vacation, in the end. On the second day of it, a ping came in on his Scroll that summoned him to Atlas Academy’s library for ‘pre-entry schooling, testing and academic vetting’. What all that meant he found out when he got outside and found a car waiting, a soldier old enough that his curly hair matched his white Atlesian service coat leaning against it. Seeing his approach, the man pushed off the car and flicked his cigarette away, leaving a door open for him and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Cram school.” The man explained when he asked, “To get you up to speed on shit someone from the city would already know.”

“Ah…”

“Gotta warn ya though, kid.” The man murmured, turning to look at him when they hit a red light. Jaune’s eyebrows rose and the old soldier chuckled and shook his head, “You thought MI training down in ye olde TC was bad? Cram School is hell of a whole ‘nother kind.”

“How do you mean?”

“TC broke your body to recondition it into somethin' worth a damn. Right?” Jaune nodded and the man bobbed his head with a ‘there you go’ kind of expression and Jaune groaned. As the car began to roll forward again the man chuckled, “Yeah, see, you got it. Don’t worry ‘bout it, kid. You can do it.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, “I can.”

The first week of the, to his mind at least, very aptly named Cram school was filled with the kinds of things one would expect Hunter trainees to have learned in the past. Hours and hours of exercises in Aura control, to drill into him the instinctive reaction needed to protect him in combat. He learned fast, motivated by the stinging pellets fired by older year Hunter trainees that had volunteered to ‘help’ him learn quickly, and soon moved on from that lesson.

Next, on the third day of the first week and on through the second week, came Grimm Studies. Tracking them in the snow and forest, identifying armored Grimm weak points, memorizing known pack tactics and the like. Everything a young Specialist would ever need to identify a Grimm threat and how best to deal with it quickly and easily. The faster one identified a threat, the fast they could react to and deal with it, or so he was told was the reasoning.

It made sense to him, at least, so he didn’t argue with the logic. Though he probably wouldn’t have even if it didn’t, given how busy and exhausted he was from the studying and endless testing.

“You’ve done well, Specialist Private.” The instructor he’d been placed under complimented towards the end of the third week, which had been spent mainly on things like arithmetic and engineering techniques. 

Supplementals, he’d been told. Things that were useful to know, but things that weren’t required for him to get by. Even if they would look better in his records if he passed tests on them, for later positions. What had been important, he’d passed. Mathematics, basic Atlesian history and cultural understanding, Aura usage and application and, of course, Grimm studies and combat.

“I had a good teacher, Sir.” Mister Wood was a good teacher, if an absolute fossil of a man. 

A retired soldier as well, lacking his left arm entirely but dressed in a uniform regardless. How he lost it, Jaune didn’t know. The only scar he could see were the claw marks on the side of his head. On his right hip, in spite of his age and bony fingers, he carried a large sidearm. And those sharp brown eyes told Jaune well enough that the old teacher could use it very well.

“Flattery will get you nowhere but officer’s school, Arc.” The man joked, earning a smile from his young ward. Nodding his head the old man turned his back on the young, shuffling through the Atlesian classroom and toward the desk at the head of it. As he went, Jaune followed, carrying a stack of folders for him that he laid on the desk. “Thank you, young man. But I’m told you’re needed in the outfitter’s now, my boy. Ahead of your first deployment.”

“My first deployment?” He murmured, brows furrowing in confusion. “But I thought I had to attend classes come Academy start?”

“You will be briefed, no doubt.” The man answered, easing into his chair and groaning. As he worked, flipping through Jaune’s last test to begin gading, he mused, “Normally I’m supposed to grade all assignments before a Specialist Private can be deployed.” Eyes flicking to Jaune he added, quiet enough to almost be conspiratorial, “I would question why, exactly, you are an exception, young man.”

Jaune had no answer to that and, with another wave of the one-armed soldier’s hand, went on his way. Lead by a drone, he was escorted through now-busy hallways, full of teachers and prospective students who would, in a couple days’ time, be sent to their Initiations. Many of both groups noticed his coat and rank on his shoulder, some of the teachers paying him a small and polite nod for it and many of the students watching him pass in awe. The latter mostly for the coat, rather than the rank.

He didn’t mind any of either, of course.

“Your equipment is in the locker at the back, Arc, J. Locker number 1-5-6-4.” The machine intoned when he was brought, rather than the outfitter’s, to the equipment locker room. The place where students would, in future, store their equipment between usage. “Proceed quickly. You are requested for a special briefing in fifteen minutes, Sir.”

A special briefing? That sounded… Ominous, in more ways than one. But the machine didn’t answer him, obviously, simply standing there impassively and waiting for him to get into his equipment so he could attend the briefing. 

He’d asked for a suit of Atlesian standard armor to be made for him, since he’d been trained in it and knew it well. What he found was similar, with the broad shoulder armor and simple plated greaves and boots he knew so well. The wide, thick chestplate already instilled him with ingrained comfort, looking at it, and he knew he’d feel comfortable in it. His helmet was similar, too, but different. Instead of an open mouth his was covered by a thin piece of armor that, judging by the hinge on the back of the jaw, could low to rest in front of his chin instead of his mouth. The visor had been tweaked as well, made of semi-opaque ballistic glass rather than the metal armor of his training helmet.

Beyond that, the armor was the same as he’d been trained to wear, and as he got into the armor he found he kind of preferred the ballistic glass front over the metal one. More open feeling, leaving most of his nose and all of his eyes visible behind the glass. And without the worry about his helmet’s power running dry and rendering him blind. 

As tiny a worry as that had always been, it was a nice one to be rid of.

His rifle was much the same as his armor, in that it was exactly the same in every way except for the small details. Sleek and silver, it was how he remembered it, and felt comfortable in his arms. At the back, just in front of the stock, a holo-sight had been installed for him to use. When he sighted down it, his helmet lit up with a small circle that traced along wherever his sight was pointing. A crack at his poor aim and a joke from Specialist Ebi, he was sure, but not one he begrudged if it helped him not get killed in a firefight. 

And to be honest, that kind of helpful joke was something he’d kind of expected.

What he hadn’t expected was a long, gift-wrapped box crammed into the locker behind his armor. Attached to the front, under the brightly colored decorative bow, was a letter. A letter that he sat down on the little locker bench behind him to read, not wanting to stand around in the heavy armor, even as used to it as he was.

“Your mother was furious with me and you both when she found out.“ The letter started, written with as little preamble as he would expect from a letter from his father. He wasn’t impatient or anything, really, but he also wasn’t one to mince words or waste time. The next bit did have him chuckling, though. “Beat me hard enough to break her metal ladles, sent me to get new ones, and broke a couple of those smacking the fire out of me for helping you. Once she calmed down, though, she suggested sending you a gift. You always loved your grandfather and all his stories, so wear it with pride.”

“Wear it with pride…” It took a moment and he blinked, sitting straight and turning to look at the long box. It was about the right length, but… “No way.” He murmured, standing up and dropping the letter in the bottom of his locker. Yanking it out he felt the weight and smiled, shaking his head. “He did not do what I think he did.”

Like a kid eager to rip into his birthday presents, Jaune set to work on the wrapped box. It was childish, and he knew it was unbecoming of a man in armor, but he couldn’t help it. What he suspected was coming was too much for him to contain himself. When the paper came off and the lid slid off, though, he froze for a moment to look at the ancestral weapon. 

A fresh blue handle wrapping had been put on the grip, and the guard had been widened just a bit, but otherwise it looked the same as it had hanging on the wall back in Ansel. A simple leather belt had been sent with it and he wasted no time pulling the belt out and tying it around his waist. But for the weapon itself, he spared a moment of reverence and respect, gently lifting it from its box and latching it onto his belt.

When he drew it, the metal scraped gently and musically as the blade came free, fitting in his hand as though designed to it. The weight was comfortable, the weapon well-balanced, and with it he felt like he could slay a dragon. Holding it up so the edge caught the light he smiled and murmured, “Crocea Mors… One more step.”

“Because that doesn’t sound nerdy at all.” A voice called, making him squawk and spin around. A dark-skinned young woman was at the door waiting for him, impatiently checking her clock and frowning. “You’re going to make us late, Arc. Have made us late, in fact, by my calculation. By four minutes.”

“I-I’m sorry…?” He blinked and grimed, sheathing his sword on his waist and clearing his throat. “I’m, uh, sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Specialist Private Jaune Arc. And you are…?”

“Specialist Private Ciel Soleil.” The woman answered, offering a small nod of greeting. That was it for politeness, though, as she turned and began to walk away. As she went, and he made to follow for reasons he couldn’t place, she explained, “I was sent to get you and escort you to the briefing room as things are… A bit unique at the moment, and we wanted to make sure we didn’t run behind.”

“Oh.” He blinked, “Uh, thank you, then, for-”

“Also, I thought you’d get lost or make us very late.” She cut in, never once turning to look at him over her shoulder. Somehow, though, he could feel the snark and agitation rolling off of her as she said, “And now we are five minutes behind schedule.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” She sighed and sped up and, armor clanking as he did, Jaune tried to match her.

Atlas Academy’s layout was a relatively simple one to Jaune, either because it made sense to a military mind or just because it was a simple layout. The complex was circular, with the dorm rooms, student mess hall, classes an, closest to the other side, the sparring halls. The other side of the great circle that was the Academy was the military structure, where his room and those of other Specialists were, as well as the barracks and full messess for the Naval Infantry and Mobile Infantry stationed in the Academy. Between the two were the armories, maintenance and modification rooms, each side used, capped on either side by small checkpoints manned by equally small teams of soldiers and drones to make sure no one did anything out of form.

In the center of it, rising above it all and with the same small checkpoints at each hallway connection, was High Command. Where the Headmaster Of Atlas Academy oversaw the education of his students, the assignments of his faculty, and the curriculums and equipment allocations assigned to classes. On the other side, and from the same desk, the General of Atlas commanded concentric rings of offices, command suites and briefing rooms where the most important decisions were made to protect the entirety of the Kingdom of Atlas, and the city of Mantle below.

He was led by the young woman to one of those small briefing rooms, with a long table and chair setup like the one he’d eaten dinner with Miss Nikos at. Albeit with less fine design and quality than the high end hotel had had, obviously. No leather chairs or steak dinners that he could see, at least, which was a damn shame by his estimations.

“Sit.” The young woman commanded, speaking like someone with bars on her shoulder even though she only came up to his. 

He sighed, though, and let her have her way, sitting in a chair towards the back of the room and laying his rifle on the table beside him. She nodded and sat opposite him, hands folded on the table and eyes locked on the door. Quietly, she murmured a count to herself like she was running down an internal alarm in her head. But Huntresses were weirder than the tundra was white, young or old, so he let it go and waited with her.

Instead, after a full minute he asked, “So, uh, you’re going for normal Specialist. Right?” she gave him a look, one brow raised, and he waved a hand at her, “You’re young and not in armor. Specialist Ebi told me most MI boys that transfer into Specialist training run in standard MI armor for a while. And I don’t remember you down in the TC.”

“The TC…?”

“The Training Camp.” And that she didn’t know the little acronym, judging by her blink and nod at least, sold him on the fact she wasn’t one. And so, instead of reasking what was now a dumb question, he asked, “What’s it like, being a Huntress?”

“Technically, I’m a student.” She pointed out, sighing when he only shrugged and cocked his head to the side in a clear ‘So?’ gesture. Sighing and seemingly put out by his questions, she began to talk. “It’s a hard but worthwhile endeavor. And I’m honored to be able to give myself to the protection of Atlas and Mantle.”

“And…?”

“And that’s all.” She shrugged, seemingly confused by his confusion. A finely manicured brow rose and the woman asked, “What’s it like being a soldier? Since you asked what it’s like being a Huntress, I mean.”

“Shitty.” He answered simply, chuckling when both the woman’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “You wake up ass early, you break your back drilling and freezing your ass off, and you get screamed at all day by the Instructor Sergeant. It’s shitty, painful, frigid, and worse.” He shrugged, “But end of the day it’s probably worth it.”

“Probably…?”

“I mean yeah. Won’t know if I like enlisting until I’m older, and have actually gotten out there to do my job. But if it lets me help people...” He gave another shrug and adjusted in his seat, armor not really fitting in with the chair under him. Quietly, he gave a weak little laugh and shrugged yet again, “I mean, if I get to help people, I guess it will have been worth it.”

“I suppose that is-” The door behind him opened and the woman’s dark eyes widened, shooting to her feet and snapping a salute, “Specialist Schnee, Ma’am.”

“At ease and in your seats, Privates.” The famous Specialist snapped out before he’d even turned and risen to pay her the same respects. Slowly, and after a nod from Ciel, he eased back into his seat. At the front of the table she turned, sliding them each a small folder and ordering, “Sign your names on these forms. Their secondary confidentiality consent forms for sensitive missions.”

“Sensitive missions…?”

“Sign it and find out, Specialist Arc.” The woman snapped, taking a seat at the end of the table and waiting with a single thick folder of her own in front of her. He gave Ciel a look just in time to see her close her packet and push it down the table and sighed, shaking his head and setting to work signing it himself. When it was done the woman nodded and leaned back in her chair, “I’d like to preamble with the fact that this is not your run of the mill assignment. Arc, you’ve been chosen because of your age, and the fact you are the only MI Specialist transferring into Atlas Academy.”

“All right…”

“And Miss Soleil is one of the best students from Atlas Academy. And thoroughly vetted as well, of course, which is needed for an assignment opportunity such as this. A spotless record has gone a long way for both of you in that regard.” The young woman only nodded quietly, seeing no apparent need to speak. Specialist Schnee didn’t seem to mind, though, and went on quietly. “I am here to offer the both of you a chance to enter Project Winter’s Grasp. A research initiative requiring the utmost secrecy and a willingness to fight in its defence. As well as the decorum not to dig for information above your clearance level. Those papers were you consenting to do so but I would hear it as well.”

“I understand.”

“As long as it’s nothing bad…”

“It isn’t, and I am glad you have a conscience, though I hope you have more trust in your superiors than to question the matter.” He grimaced and nodded and the woman seemed satisfied. “Very good. I must warn you that the first leg of the operation may try your patience a bit. I assure you that she is a good person, though, and will get along easily with you.” Raising her voice, she called out, “Come in and meet your new team.”

The door flew open to reveal a young girl with bright eyes and orange hair, beaming widely at them. She bounced into the room and cheered, “Hello, new friends! Oh I so look forward to working with you!”

XxX----XxX----XxX

Okay so the description of the classes was kinda shitty. Sorry. Doing this in my spare time, so I put my focus into my full stories rather than this more passion project one. Apologies for the lacking of polish.

So, I finally got a proper direction, rather than just the theme as I had before now, for this story out of reviews and my own thoughts. As this is a fun story, not a standard one, I hadn't gotten one yet. Now I do, though.

Also, as always, tiny advisory not to expect normal large chapters. This is a fun side-series for me, though I am happy you are happy reading it.

XxX----XxX----XxX

It’s just another primate :

Why wouldn’t I care? Also, Arkos isn’t quite where I’m going with this all.

Reader (Guest) :

As of now at least, it isn’t Arkos. Going for a different theme that meant I needed Pyrrha in here.

Josh Spicer :

As of now, it won’t be Arkos. Not why I included her.

Shadoath :

A bit, but then, every story is convenience when you get down to it. *shrugs*


	6. Off to Vale

XxX----XxX----XxX

Official Supporters: 

Priests, The Impossible Muffin, Xager the Chaos King. 

Adeptus, Private Wilger

Ze Nope Rope, Kaiser Snek, Snekiest Snek

Acolytes, DigiDemonLord, Cheeseberry

Initiates, Greg Gibson, Espacole

If you want to be on the Supporter list, PM one of us for details or join our private server for details. Hope you enjoy reading my stories, please leave me a comment to let me know if you did, or where I can improve. Link here, where able to be seen : https://discord.gg/2UZncAm

Second link here, remove spaces and it SHOULD work : D iscord . gg (slash) kfhkfUb

I have a kofi account now, too, under this name for those interested.

Beta(s) : 

XxX----XxX----XxX

Ansel was a warm but normally dimly lit settlement, with the mountains ringing it blocking out so much of the sky. Between the mines, farms and forest work, the people were a hardy, embittered sort. And that was even before one looked to the Atlesian soldiers coming and going as transports did their runs and ships patrolled, or the Hunters on expedition or escort duty for caravans coming and going, by air or land. Typically, those caravans carried needed goods and families from Ansel itself, sent to get whatever people found a need for.Hunter escorts were, of course, expensive. And his family often footed, or manned, them personally for it.

Without those expensive escorts, though, one had to rely on the military to just be around, or accept how likely it was you wouldn’t see your friends or Lien ever again.

Atlas was similarly hard, but in a more disciplined, class oriented sort of sense. The higher society people knew their role and stayed in their lane, as did the lower classes. Soldiers wore their uniforms almost always and kept their decorum, rules for which Jaune was no exception. The Kingdom-City’s layout was even more rigid than Ansel, with systematic grid like patterns throughout the floating city’s expanse. Rigid, cold, disciplined and safe both on its own floating surface and, by its effect, below, in Mantle. Atlas’ stability served as a shield and sword for the lower city, after all.

That was how it had all been designed.

Vale was… Closer to Ansel than Atlas, for probably obvious reasons, but wildly different from both. From above the streets were more chaotic and unplanned in most sections and segments, leading it to look and feel more like a naturally grown forest made of buildings than a designed city. The buildings were random heights, random designs, and seemed to compete for space like leaves would for sunlight. Beneath them, roads wheedled their way like animal paths. Curved, loose, and fitting in wherever they could make presence for themselves. It was...

“Kind of pretty.” He murmured, standing aboard the ship and tossing back a handful of stomach easing pills as their transport descended. 

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” He answered, swallowing the bitter tasting things and turning to the small girl beside him. Pulling his helmet back on and shrugging his rifle into a more comfortable place on his shoulder, he smiled, “What do you think, Penny? Kind of looks like a metal forest, doesn’t it?”

“I think it does indeed!” She nodded, smiling brightly and leaning against the glass to get a better view. After a moment she hummed and, almost under what he could hear, murmured, “I would describe it as a field of flowers, though...”

“It’s a city, not a forest or a field.” Ciel, on her other side, chided the both of them. Sighing, she checked her wristwatch and scowled, “We should be twenty feet lower to land on time… We’re going to be late.”

“By approximately three minutes and forty two seconds, yes.” Penny nodded, not bothered in the slightest by the woman’s chiding rebuke. How she’d gotten such a precise number so breezily as as much of a mystery as how she put up with the other small woman’s sharp attitude. Regardless, the little Huntress hopeful went on, reassuring their third, “We will still arrive to meet our fourth member within what would be considered by most to be ‘on time’.”

“You’re on time or you aren’t.” Ciel argued quietly, “The margin around it is just an error margin.”

“Well I say that we’re still on time if we’re a minute behind schedule.” Jaune interrupted before Penny could respond and, judging from the last six hours of their flight, Ciel could argue. “Either way,” he went on as the ship shuddered tellingly around them, “we’re landing, so let’s just meet up with the Specialist and get our next sext of orders. Alright?”

“Our first set, you mean. Aside from deployment, we’ve got no orders.” Ciel corrected, sighing and shrugging when he did. “Fine. Let’s collect our things and meet him, then. Before we end up even later.”

From above, the airport building was just a big rectangle with numerous thin spines spaced out around large landing zones. Doors and bays facilitated the craft coming and going, and open-air escalators with heavy bulwarks that could be used to seal them. Presumably in case airborne Grimm attacked, since aircraft would just bomb the building into rubble around the armored sections. Inside, the order descended into chaos, as lines of disembarking passengers wound around each other and the amenities and services needed to run an airport.

Waiting at one of the numerous exits they met their fourth member, a Faunus man with his own more specialised, probably Huntsman grade, rifle hanging comfortably across his back and long Specialist coat swaying with the gentle wag of his tail. “Specialists Arc, Polendina and Soleil?”

“Indeed.” Ciel answered as she stepped in front of them, hands clasped behind her back and head bowing in a polite greeting. His eyes flicked to theirs - well, to Jaune’s visor - but when he and Penny only shrugged the man turned back to her. Smiling in satisfaction, she asked, “Are you Specialist Amin, then? We were told that you would be our superior for the duration of our stay, Sir.”

“Yeah, you are. And you kids can rely on me from now on.” He nodded, seemingly pleased with himself for the rank judging from the wide smile and thumbs up. A recent promotion, it seemed, then. Not that Jaune was in any position to judge that sort of thing. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain the operation and your roles in it, Specialists.”

“Yes, Sir.” He and Ciel snapped out, Penny only bouncing on her heels and nodding.

“Good.” He nodded, eyes flicking between each of theirs before he turned and led them away. As they passed through Vale’s vibrant, chaotic footpaths and streets, Specialist Amin spoke, knowing that in the crowd no one would be able to hear what they were talking about. “Okay so first thing’s first, don’t expect things here to be like in Atlas. Faunus walk most streets if it matters-”

“Doesn’t to me.” Jaune shrugged, “As long as they aren’t part of-”

“Oh, I just love Faunus!” Penny interrupted, ignorant of the dozens of eyes that swerved to her for a heartbeat. Smiling, she began to rattle at the Specialist, “They are just so interesting, diverse, unique and-and interesting! Spider Faunus can shoot webbing, did you know that?”

“Yeah, I-”

“Oh, and the rare aquatic Faunus can sometimes breathe underwater!” She went on before the man cold answer, the amused and confused Faunus just giving her a look and shaking his head. Uninterrupted, she added, “Some can even fly or produce natural toxins, injected by claws, tails and even sometimes teeth!”

“Wait, seriously? Poison fangs? Faunus have poison fangs?” Penny and Specialist Amin both nodded and he smiled behind his helmet and laughed, “That’s awesome! I didn’t know that! What else can they-”

“We’re wasting time here, Sir.” Ciel cut in sharply, speaking about wasted time the same way that other people would speak about the Grimm. Or eating broccoli. “As it is we are five minutes late for when the itinerary said our briefing should have begun. Any further delays will be a cascade of failure and ruin any chances of punctuality for the rest of the day.”

“R-Right, yeah. Well, good thing we’re here, then!” He nodded as they reached a tall, concrete white building sandwiched between two more colorful brickwork buildings. The roof of their destination was a few floors taller than those to either side and reinforced on top, a huge flagpole with the flag of Atlas set into its center and billowing proudly in the air. “This,” Specialist Amin explained, “is one of Atlas’ strategic hardpoint garrisons. Kinda unique to Vale, so you might not know ‘em.”

“The hardpoint garrison system is a system devised specifically for the support of Vale.” Ciel, of course, began to explain with a smile that screamed self-satisfaction. “Housing, armories, equipment maintenance bays, communications equipment, and rations are stored in spread out, reinforced buildings. This allows rapid response as needed to threats in the city, while compartmentalizing supplies to prevent theft or crippling insurgent strikes.”

“It also raises morale in the city, seeing Atlas’ banner flying and knowing that help is always at hand.” Penny added brightly, turning to wave at a kid passing them by on the road, the child looking at the soldiers and Hunters in a familiar kind of awe. “Half our defence against the Grimm is just keeping people feeling safe, so they don’t draw attention.”

“Well… Yeah, that’s, uh, right. Good job, Soleil.” Somewhat put out by not getting to do the explaining and sound smart, the Faunus frowned and set his hands on his hips. Then he shrugged and waved for them to follow him, “C’mon, then. I’ll show you where you can stow your gear and then we’ll get into the briefing on each of your assignments while you’re here.”

“Tell me about it later.” Jaune whispered as they stepped towards the door, the young ginger smiling widely and nodding excitedly at the prospect.

Two guards were posted outside of the door, which itself was set up on a sort of porch ringed by concrete barriers to provide sight over the road. One of the guards checked each of their IDs but otherwise they were admitted into the typical sterile lobby without any fuss or concern. Inside, soldiers paid them little mind as they passed, walking through blank halls marked out by alpha-numerical designators at each corner. Their purpose was to guide anyone that knew the simple code wherever they went. Letters designated the floors, and numbers the halls from the left side of the building around and to the right.

They didn’t need to worry about it, though, since they had Specialist Amin to follow.

“Okay, kiddos, I read your dossiers but I want real introductions.” Specialist Amin ordered brightly after they’d dropped off their equipment and he’d changed out of his armor and into his Specialist uniform. As they settled into their seats around in what looked to be a copy and paste of the briefing room he’d met Penny and Ciel in, he smiled and waved a hand at himself. “I’ll start. I’m Specialist Marrow Amin, born and raised on Mantle. I went to Atlas Academy and graduated a year ago.”

“That is why you were chosen to form our team, isn’t it?” Penny asked, smiling as she always was. “Because you look so young, so you can stand in as a student fairly well whenever you are needed to.”

“Exactly right.” The man nodded, smiling at how easily she connected the dots. “Specialist Soleil and Specialist Arc are both also actually students, as well. So your team is formed up of almost completely real records. Three actual students and one pretend one. It’s easier to hide the fact with only one fake in the group, but adds a bit more skilled firepower to the mix.”

“For our mission.” Jaune nodded, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. “Which is… What, exactly? Besides coming to Beacon and attending group events as part of Penny’s team, I mean.”

“To protect her whenever you aren't on secondary assignments.” Marrow answered simply, folding his arms across his chest at the displeased face Jaune made. Knowing what he’d ask next, Amin cut it off before it could go anywhere, “The reasons behind it all aren’t for you to know. The operation’s parameters are classified, and you know what you need to. Just follow your orders, newbie.”

“Yes, Sir.” It chafed to be told off, but such was all just a part of the job.

“And since you started talking anyway,” he smiled, no doubt aiming to ease the tension for said telling off, “why don’t you introduce yourself first, Arc?”

“Alright, then…” He took a breath and crossed his arms, getting comfortable for the brief moment before he began to talk. He sucked at this sort of stuff, after all, but if he was ordered to… “Well, I’m from Ansel, which is a bit north and east of here. My name is Jaune Arc, as you, uh, probably know. My family history is kinda famous from back in the Great War and the Faunus War.”

“Technically, it’s the ‘Rights Revolution’.” Marrow corrected thinly, “But go on.”

“R-Right.” Not in the TC it wasn’t, and he almost said as much. But he thought better of it and finished more meekly, “Well, I’m MI trained, transferred into the Specialists on a recommendation. And now I’m, uh, you know… Here.”

“Right.” Their new leader turned to Ciel, smiling, “Your turn.”

“Soleil, Ciel, of Atlas, Sir. Academy and city both.” She answered shortly, back straight and chin raised ever so slightly in the picture of military discipline. And a thin little smile that told him she wanted to be seen doing it, and praised. “I haven’t actually graduated, but I am honored that General Ironwood and Specialist Schnee saw fit to make use of me regardless, Sir.”

“I’m sure you’re worth being picked.” Marrow nodded, turning to Penny and frowning ever so slightly. Quietly, like he was anxious over something, he prompted, “Your turn, as best you can, Polendina.”

“I am Penny Polendina, new friends.” She said excitedly, like she hadn’t already said precisely the same a dozen times. Beaming a wide, innocent smile, she went on quietly, “I was made in Atlas, and consider the city my home. I am also attending Atlas Academy, thanks to General Ironwood’s kindness, and I look forward to it. I hope to make many new friends!”

“I’m sure you will, kiddo.” Marrow nodded, smiling and giving them each a once-over. Satisfied, he nodded again and turned to leave, hands clasped comfortably behind his head, “Rest of the day is yours, kids. Get settled in and get rested up, but don’t leave the building. Orders will come for each of you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir.” The two soldiers clipped, Penny instead offering a cheery little, “Alright!”

Being confined to base kind of sucked, but the day was waning anyway and he could do with some sleep. Especially if he had an assignment tomorrow. So he stood, nodded to the girls and said a simple, “G’night, ladies. Sleep tight and see you tomorrow.”

XxX----XxX----XxX

As always, this and other similar unscheduled stories don’t have a word minimum. If they’re short, apologies. Normally, this would be part of the rest of a chapter, filling the next day. But I do this in my spare time, so…

Small chapters, sometimes. *shrugs*

XxX----XxX----XxX

Chendong :

Some people enjoy more original stories, some people enjoy those that adhere to canon. I try to mix both in various stories.

Merendinomiliano :

Indeed! Or at least one of them has.

Reader (Guest) :

A good idea. Wish I’d had it before now. If you have a name for a foursome with Marrow involved, I’d gladly take it.

Frosty Chops :

Yeah, I know a lot of people - myself included - enjoy Jaune more with his classic blade and kite aesthetic even if it is hard to design it in.

Josh Spicer :

Beacon is incredibly important, narratively. I will, however, be finding ways to not retread the same ground. Hard to get the Jaunedice arc in with Jaune being a soldier, yeah? His being on Penny’s team is a cover, not an actual thing. Beacon will be viewed from a different angle.

Thomas Knightshade :

I mean… If the pairings work themselves out, I’ll include them.


End file.
